ã€ŠThrone Hunters [Dungeon-focused Progression Fantasy]ã€‹


 Chapter 1

    Harald awoke with extreme reluctance. Someone was shaking his shoulder, calling his name, but his head pounded and his stomach was trying to ooze up his throat. He turned away and buried his head under a silken pillow.

    ¡°Harald! Wake up! You¡¯re late¡±

    ¡°Sleep,¡± he groaned, yearning for oblivion. ¡°Wake me up¡­ tomorrow.¡±

    ¡°But Harald!¡± It was Samantha, his last remaining servant. By the Fallen Angel, didn¡¯t she know better than to risk his anger? ¡°You¡¯re going to miss your raid! The Tenth Bell has already rung!¡±

    Raid?

    Despite the nausea, his clammy skin, his aching head, that word resonated deep within his soul. Raid?

    Harald blinked.

    His raid.

    The raid he¡¯d spent the last of his father¡¯s fortune outfitting.

    He lurched up and winced at the bright light streaming in through the high windows. ¡°What? The Tenth Bell?¡±

    Samantha had been forced to crawl across half his massive bed, navigating the other slumbering bodies to reach him, and only now did she draw back, hesitant and apologetic. ¡°Yes. I tried to wake you earlier, but¡­¡±

    ¡°Oh god.¡± Urgency gripped him by the throat. He clawed his long hair out of his face as he threw the silk sheet aside and scrambled off the bed. Grimaced at the bright light pouring into his bedroom, then cast around, momentarily lost as to what to do next.

    ¡°Your gear,¡± said Samantha. ¡°Shall I help you don it?¡±

    ¡°Yes, obviously.¡± He burped, and that triggered a hot rush of burning fluid up his throat. Oh god. What had even happened last night? People lay curled up asleep in armchairs, intertwined amidst cushions on the rug, passed out on the divan. The air smelled of spilt liquor and stale yearnsmoke.

    Harald swayed, a rush of emotions passing through him. Chagrin, horror, panic. The tenth bell. That meant Yeoric and the rest of the crew were already in the Plaza of Dials, waiting for him.

    ¡°Fuck,¡± he hissed, and began struggling to get out of his evening wear. His pants were missing, fortunately, but even so he tore buttons in his haste to get out of his long-sleeved ivory shirt.

    There was no time for a bath. He¡¯d have to show up reeking of smoke and with booze sweating from his pores. What a mess.

    The next ten minutes were a blur. Were it not for Samantha he¡¯d never have managed. Worse, the gear he¡¯d purchased two months ago for this day didn¡¯t quite fit. Furious, disheartened, he sucked in his gut as Samantha cinched tight his leather armor.

    ¡°What a waste of effort,¡± he hissed, furious. ¡°I worked hard to lose that weight. All that for nothing. You stop exercising for one minute and¡­¡±

    Samantha remained quiet, her narrow face ashen, her brow furrowed, her lips pursed.

    The tight armor didn¡¯t help his upset stomach. Breathing shallowly so as to not provoke the urge to vomit, he raised his arms so Samantha could tie his scabbard to his hip, then considered an emergency glass of whisky before heading outside. Just enough to steady his nerves.

    ¡°Where you off to, Harry?¡± asked Vic from the divan, having roused himself enough to move a tasseled scarf off his face. ¡°I thought we were going to do brunch at the Oak and Acorn?¡±

    ¡°Not me.¡± Harald drew himself up. ¡°I¡¯m going to the dungeon. I¡¯m late.¡±

    ¡°The dungeon?¡± Vic¡¯s eyes widened, and then he grinned, delighted. ¡°You were being serious, last night?¡±

    ¡°Drop dead,¡± snarled Harald, and marched out of the room. It felt like walking on the deck of a ship. Was he still drunk? He was sweating, a bad sweat, cold and thick, and his stomach felt like it was full of greasy chunks of ice.

    ¡°Here,¡± said Samantha, trotting along to keep up, batting a lock of blonde hair from her face. ¡°Your scale pouch. It¡¯s all you have left. My apologies. I mean that literally.¡±

    He took it wordlessly and belted it to his side.

    ¡°And your dagger,¡± she said, sliding it into the sheath. ¡°Do you have your writ of entry?¡±

    ¡°Stop badgering me,¡± he snarled, then stopped by the front door to gaze up at the large oil painting. How long had he waited for this moment, to stand before the portrait of his father and salute him as a fellow dungeon delver?

    His father.

    The painting had been commissioned after the legendary raid that had resulted in his finding the Eclipse Edge Nightshard scale. Wealth enough to make him a Count at court, but his father had never wanted to enter that elevated society. Instead he¡¯d cashed in the scale, and with that fortune lifted his little family from poverty to the heights of luxury.

    ¡°I¡¯m finally going to do it, Dad.¡± Harald studied his father¡¯s vulpine, forceful face. His eternally mocking smile. ¡°I¡¯m following in your footsteps. I¡¯ve got a crew and everything. It¡¯s - it¡¯s thanks to -¡± A vicious burp tore itself up from the grottoes of his gut, and he bent over, fighting the urge to vomit.

    Samantha held out a tumbler of whisky, her expression painfully neutral.

    ¡°Thanks, Sam.¡± Harald tossed it down, hissed, then handed the tumbler back. Fire washed down his throat, flooded his murky stomach, and settled the worst of the nausea. Straightening, he looked up at his father again. ¡°I¡¯m going to do you proud, Dad. You¡¯ll see. I might not find a Nightshard today, but I will soon. No, not a Nightshard. Maybe a Zenith Tide. Who knows. But I¡¯m going to do you proud. You and Mom. I¡¯m finally¡­¡± He burped again, a manageable, smallish burp, and wiped the back of his hand across his lips. By the angels he was sweating like a pig. ¡°I¡¯m finally going to make something of myself. You¡¯ll see.¡±

    His father smiled down at him, his expression calm, confident, eternal.

    ¡°Good luck, Harald,¡± whispered Sam, opening the front door.

    ¡°Ha. Like I need it.¡± Harald stepped out into the painfully bright sunlight. ¡°I¡¯ll be back this evening loaded with scales and stories of our successes. You¡¯ll see Sam. This is the beginning of a new me.¡±

    Was that pity in Sam¡¯s face? ¡°I hope so, sir. And here. Don¡¯t forget this.¡±

    And she drew out his father¡¯s pendant.

    Harald stilled. ¡°You remembered.¡±

    ¡°Of course. I thought you¡¯d appreciate having it with you.¡±

    Harald took the pendant. It was a crooked black thing, a stone finger, its talon sharp enough to scratch rock. He hated it, had always hated it, but his father had brought it back from the sixty-fifth level as a memento of his battle with Vorakhar the shadow demon.

    The demon from which he¡¯d wrested his famed Nightshard.

    ¡°Yes,¡± he whispered, and draped the pendant around his neck. ¡°Thank you.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯d be proud of you,¡± whispered Sam.

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    Harald resisted the urge to snarl at her. Of course his father would be proud of him. He didn¡¯t need Sam to tell him that. But he bit back the caustic words. The only way to prove himself was through decisive action. She¡¯d not pity him when he returned victorious. After celebrating with his loyal crew, of course. So he spun on his heel and marched down the impressive driveway to the ornate iron gates.

    Once he¡¯d have driven down to the Plaza of Dials in his father¡¯s scale-coach, but that old hulk now rusted in the garage, draped in white sheets and deprived of all power. So instead he let himself out, ignoring the empty guard post that hadn¡¯t been manned in over five years, and stepped onto Baldric Avenue.

    The metropolis of Flutic was ablaze with activity and energy. Old-fashioned horse-drawn carriages rolled by, elegant men and women in the latest fashion strolled along the broad pavements, arm in arm, while unobtrusive guard patrols in black and gold marched by in pairs or stood on the street corners.

    Why did it have to be so blasted hot?

    Harald set off. His scabbard kept banging against his leg. His leather armor was too damned tight, so he undid each of the clasps, one by one, promising that each was the last he¡¯d loosen. He wiped at this sweaty brow over and over again, cursing his fine, long hair that kept getting plastered across his brow.

    Bells began to ring.

    It couldn¡¯t be the eleventh bell already, could it?

    It was.

    Panicked, Harald broke into a jog. Two months ago he¡¯d gotten into the best shape of his life. Which, sure, was good compared to where he¡¯d been six months before that, but now? Now he felt like it had all been a waste. He was able to maintain a steady jog for some six blocks, drawing amused stares from passerby¡¯s, but finally had to slow and walk, gasping for breath and fighting to keep his stomach quiet.

    Not that Yeoric and the others could leave without him. He¡¯d paid for their gear, paid to activate their windows, brought them together, fired them up with his passion and zeal. They were his raiding crew. If he was late, they¡¯d just have to wait.

    Or so he told himself.

    He jogged then walked, jogged then walked, until at last he saw a passing hansom cab. With immense relief he flagged it down, panting and burping, and crawled gratefully into the small cab after telling the driver where to go.

    The wheels rattled over the cobblestones, the horse¡¯s hooves clopped, and the city scrolled by in all its faded glory. Harald closed his eyes and focused on breathing through his nose.

    He¡¯d almost fallen asleep when they drew to a stop.

    ¡°We¡¯re here, sir!¡± called the driver with unnecessary volume.

    ¡°Oh, thank you.¡± Harald roused himself, rubbed at his eyes, then dug into his pouch for a Silver Starburst scale.

    ¡°That¡¯ll be five Silvers,¡± said the driver, insultingly cheerful.

    ¡°Five?¡± Harald gaped at him, then realized he¡¯d not established the fare from the get-go. Damn it.

    But there, Yeoric and the others, watching from the shadows of the massive central sundial. He couldn¡¯t let them see him haggle, so he drew out four more of the small scales and handed them over.

    ¡°Have yourself a blessed day,¡± smiled the cabby, and leapt up to his seat with enviable alacrity.

    ¡°Get tossed,¡± muttered Harald, then turned to his crew with a forced smile.

    They were all here. Of course they were. Yeoric in his serviceable half plate armor, unpainted and dull, but somehow all the more impressive for being meant for actual battle. Lucine, tall and elegant, her half-elf heritage shining through in her refined features and slightly pointed ears, her chainmail glimmering like fish scales beneath her tabard of white and gold. Gazurn, an actual dwarf from Dumr?n, his great beard braided and tucked into his broad belt, his powerful hands resting atop the hilt of his warhammer. And his friend Derrick, that old rascal, his hair painted an artificial black, his skin pasty white, his smile unnerving.

    His crew.

    ¡°Yeoric!¡± Harald tried for a boom as he crossed the plaza to where they stood, the huge sundial looming behind them. ¡°Here I am. Just got a little waylaid on the way. But no matter. Are we ready?¡±

    Yeoric was everything Harald had grown up wanting to be. Tall, broad shouldered, and handsome, he watched with a flat stare as Harald approached. ¡°You said Ten Bells. We¡¯ve been here over an hour.¡±

    ¡°I know, I know. I¡¯m sorry.¡± There, a bit of generosity to set things at ease, to reinforce that he didn¡¯t feel above them. ¡°I might have gotten away with celebrating our adventure last night.¡±

    ¡°You celebrated before the raid?¡± asked Lucine, her tone acidic.

    Harald frowned. She¡¯d never spoken to him like that before. ¡°I, well. I know we¡¯re destined for greatness, so, I thought a drink or two¡­?¡±

    Lucine sneered and shook her head in disgust. Harald felt a different kind of nausea wash through him. Lucine liked him. She¡¯d even flirted with him, had made him think that if all went well, she might be willing to¡­

    ¡°Look, Harald.¡± Yeoric stepped up and placed a heavy hand on his shoulder. ¡°I¡¯ve bad news.¡±

    ¡°Bad news?¡± Harald tried to shrug off Yeoric¡¯s hand and failed. ¡°What do you mean, bad news? We¡¯ve still got the whole day to get below. What¡¯s wrong?¡±

    Yeoric studied him, his square jaw jutting out, then sighed. ¡°You¡¯re not coming.¡±

    Harald just stared up at him. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°You heard him,¡± snapped Derrick irritatedly. ¡°You¡¯re not coming, lard-ass.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve been trying to find a way to tell you,¡± continued Yeoric, his tone inexorable. ¡°But you¡¯re not dungeon raid material. It¡¯ll be too dangerous for you.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Now Harald did shrug off Yeoric¡¯s hand and stepped back. ¡°What are you talking about? This is my raid. I paid for your armor, your weapons, your elixirs. I paid - Derrick, I fucking paid for you to open your window! I paid for the raid permit, this is - what are you¡­?¡±

    Lucine sighed. ¡°Oh grow up, Harald. Yes, we appreciate your generosity, and we¡¯ve already thanked you I don¡¯t know how many times. But we¡¯re done groveling. Honestly, it¡¯s ridiculous for you to think you¡¯d actually come. You don¡¯t even know how to use that sword.¡±

    ¡°We can¡¯t risk your dying,¡± said Yeoric. ¡°So you¡¯re going to stay behind. We¡¯ll give you a cut of the profit, however. We agreed that 5% is fair.¡±

    ¡°5%?¡± Harald spluttered. He felt like he was drowning, couldn¡¯t breathe. ¡°You¡¯re¡­ no! Absolutely not! The contract! We all signed a contract, you can¡¯t do this -¡±

    Yeoric looked away as he stepped in casually and buried his fist in Harald¡¯s stomach.

    The world grew at once brighter and tightened to a narrow tunnel as Harald¡¯s whole body clenched up. He couldn¡¯t breathe, couldn¡¯t stand. He slid off Yeoric¡¯s fist and fell to the ground, where he promptly spewed all over the cobblestones.

    Yeoric crouched down next to him. ¡°Easy there, you¡¯re all right. Just breathe. Now, we¡¯ll be taking the writ. Derrick?¡±

    Hands pulled at his belt.

    Harald tried to slap the hands away, but he couldn¡¯t focus. His whole body was in agony, his throat burning, stars in his eyes. He¡¯d never been hit before. By the Fallen Angel, it hurt.

    ¡°You won¡¯t need your scales either,¡± said Lucine, crouching lithely beside him. ¡°But we might. So thank you again for your generosity.¡±

    Harald tried to wheeze, to protest, but Yeoric pinned him to the ground with one hand.

    ¡°Easy,¡± said Yeoric again. ¡°We¡¯re almost done. Derrick had a friend in the Mining Consortium remove your name from the permit, so don¡¯t try going to the authorities about this. Honestly, this is for the best, Harald. You go home and rest. You look like you need it. We¡¯ll let you know how it goes when we emerge.¡±

    Harald blinked away tears of outrage. He tried to sit up, but Yeoric kept him pinned, his face stony.

    ¡°Let go of me,¡± snarled Harald when he could breathe at last.

    Yeoric kept him pinned for another beat. Harald struggled but got nowhere. Finally, when he¡¯d proved his point, Yeoric removed his hand. ¡°Go home, Harald. This isn¡¯t for you. You might not see it, but we¡¯re doing you a favor. One day I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll thank me.¡±

    ¡°Fuck you,¡± snapped Harald, fighting the urge to cry. Then he looked passed Lucine and Derrick to where Gazurn stood, expression unyielding and cold.

    ¡°Gazurn?¡±

    The dwarf shook his head. ¡°If you were meant to come with us, you would not have let this happen.¡±

    They were all against him.

    ¡°All right, everyone,¡± said Yeoric, rising to his feet with ease despite his massive armor. ¡°We¡¯ve got the writ and broken the news to Harald. Let¡¯s get to raiding.¡±

    ¡°Finally,¡± said Lucine. ¡°And Harald? If you ever leer at me again, I¡¯ll cut off your junk and feed it to you. Clear?¡±

    Harald simply stared at her, hatred and horror burning all his words away.

    ¡°Cheer up, Harald.¡± Derrick grinned. ¡°Now you get to go to the Oak and Acorn and have a drink. Honestly, it¡¯s amazing that you thought you were part of the crew.¡±

    ¡°Amazing?¡± Lucine arched a brow. ¡°Or beyond pathetic?¡±

    ¡°Either or,¡± laughed Derrick, bouncing Harald¡¯s scale pouch in his palm. ¡°Oh, here.¡± He dug out a Copper Moon and tossed it into the vomit by Harald¡¯s face. ¡°For your champagne.¡±

    Then he had the gall to wink.

    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± said Yeoric, and led the group out of the plaza.

    Harald pushed himself up to sitting, his arms shaking, his stomach throbbing, his mind spinning.

    That hadn¡¯t just happened.

    This was just a nightmare.

    Sam would wake him any moment now.

    It¡¯d be the Eighth Bell, and he¡¯d have ample time to get to the Plaza of Dials to meet up with his crew.

    His crew.

    Tears welled up in his eyes and he bit back a sob.

    He saw his father¡¯s mocking smile.

    His father¡¯s piercing eyes.

    Harald¡¯s face burned. His stomach was on fire. People were going about their business, all of them studiously avoiding him.

    Vic would probably be making his way to the Oak and Acorn by now. Along with Bestik, Evernessa, and the others. They¡¯d buy him drinks, sympathize, listen as he poured out his outrage¡­

    ¡°No,¡± whispered Harald. ¡°No, I won¡¯t go get a drink.¡±

    Arms shaking, his whole body in pain, he forced himself to stand. Rose to his feet, swayed, then placed his hand on the pommel of his sword.

    ¡°I will go raiding today. Screw you guys. Screw all of you. I don¡¯t need you. I never needed you! I¡¯ll¡­ I¡¯ll find my own glory.¡±

    With great care he picked up the Copper from where it lay in his spew. He rubbed it clean on his pant leg and then closed his fingers around its sharp edges.

    Wiped his face with his sleeve, then set off after the crew.

    Toward the Dungeon Plaza.

    Tears brimmed and ran down his cheeks. The world swayed. With each breath he had to fight the urge to retch.

    ¡°I¡¯ll make you proud, dad.¡± He whispered the words brokenly as if they were a talisman, and reached up to clutch the black, broken finger hanging around his neck. ¡°I swear it. I¡¯ll make you proud. I will.¡±

 Chapter 2

    The Humble Petitioner¡¯s line was interminable. Without his expensive writ, Harald had been forced to get in line with every greenhorn, has-been, and desperate raider who hoped against every odd to strike it rich in the first level of the dungeon.

    The sun punished him. His leather armor was starting to feel water-logged from all his sweating. Everything chafed, and he couldn¡¯t remember the last time he¡¯d spent so much time just standing around like this for so long. His feet ached, his new boots stiff and uncomfortable. Worse, his hangover was in full force. The more he sweated the more parched he became, and he¡¯d already drained his waterskin.

    Grimacing, he leaned out to sight along the length of the line. It wound all the way around the Dungeon Plaza, cordoned off by roped pilons, only to snake its way to the Petitioner¡¯s Gate on the far side.

    Worse, the Humble Petitioner¡¯s line only moved when there was nobody with a fancier writ trying to gain entrance. Which was often. The dungeon was as busy as it had ever been, even if it was no longer coughing up the wealth that had fueled Flutic¡¯s rise to world dominance.

    The only figures who seemed to move less were the large guardian scale-golems, some of the few left active in all of Flutic, who kept watch on the Dungeon Portal at all times from the plaza¡¯s perimeter.

    But they were so still that even pigeons roosted on them without concern.

    Sullen, furious, Harald watched as elite raiding teams strode up to the different gates where their paperwork was quickly checked before they were waved through. Once only the citizens of Flutic had been allowed to raid, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Now the dungeon was open to foreign teams, all of them granted access on the condition that they paid exorbitant taxes upon exiting.

    And people came from all over the known world to try their hand at salvaging scales from the dangerous depths.

    Piratical corsairs from the Venissar archipelago. Heavily armored knights with their squires and support personnel from industrial Marheim to the north. Elegant parties of perfumed gentlemen from the distant Jade Empire. Rangy, feral looking men from Nihtscua to the far northeast, their faces painted, looking more like wolves than people. Even the ethereal, radiant elves from the vast Mithlorniel forest appeared on occasion, otherworldly and beautiful.

    But the greatest numbers were still the Flutic teams sponsored by the noble houses. Elites invested with power, tasked with restoring the grandeur of their diminished lords.

    The result was that the Humble Petitioners barely shuffled along.

    Head pounding, eyes narrowed against the glare, Harald glared balefully as team after team stepped up to the hovering dungeon entrance and presented an expensive scale. The huge, floating polyhedron would then revolve, blurring and spinning, until it presented the team with a pentagonal face for one of the first twelve levels, or a much rarer triangular face for the far deeper ones.

    Over and over it spun and flashed, responding to the Fallen Angel¡¯s scales, sending team after team into the depths.

    Bitter rage filled Harald. Yeoric and the others had descended hours ago. Using his writ. His gear. The temerity! The bastards. He knew he wasn¡¯t the most lethal of raiders, a novice, sure, but¡­

    Over and over again he replayed the scene in his mind. Lucine¡¯s sneer. Yeoric keeping him pinned far past the moment he could have let him up. Derrick¡¯s shit-eating smile. Even Gazurn had held back. So much for dwarvish honor.

    Outrage kept him on his feet.

    He¡¯d show them.

    He whiled away the baking hours with dreams of revenge. Perhaps he¡¯d come upon them in the dungeon just before they were slaughtered. He¡¯d leap in, perhaps off a ledge, to sink his blade into some monstrous thing, killing it with ease. Yeoric would gape. Lucine would be overcome with regret, her eyes burning with a romantic hope that he¡¯d spurn with a caustic laugh.

    Or perhaps he¡¯d simply show them up with his own success. He¡¯d find a Nebula Bloom scale, say, and word would get out, how he¡¯d done even better than his father. Yeoric and the others would hunt him down to the Oak and Acorn, where he¡¯d be regaling his friends with the tale, and, humbled and crushed, Yeoric would beg his forgiveness.

    Harald sneered at his imaginary foes. Would he forgive them? What would it take for them to earn his forgiveness? No, he¡¯d humiliate them as they¡¯d humiliated him. He¡¯d make them a joke. The idiots who spurned Harald Darrowdelve. What fools!

    On he shuffled.

    Occasionally his mind turned back to the bitter meeting he¡¯d demanded at the Flutic Mining Consortium just before getting in line. Upon arriving at the plaza, he¡¯d gone straight to the massive offices and up to the seventh floor to insist on an audience with his father¡¯s old representative. Ustim Flowervault had been taken aback, and invited him in with grave courtesy. It had been Ustim who¡¯d helped him acquire the writ that granted them expedited access to the dungeon at a greatly discounted price; it had been Ustim who¡¯d helped draft the charter that laid out the articles that would govern their crew. The old man had listened intently, long fingers steepled, then sent for copies of the charter to be brought.

    Harald¡¯s face burned at the memory.

    The copy had been cleverly edited so that his own name had been removed. Ustim had studied it with a magnifying glass and shaken his head in wonder.

    ¡°I myself wrote this charter, and yet it bears no sign of your name.¡± The old man had pushed the contract away. ¡°No space even where your name might have once been written, no roughing of the fibers, nothing. It¡¯s a faultless forgery.¡±

    ¡°Then declare it null!¡± Harald had cried, beside himself.

    ¡°The seal is official,¡± Ustim had demurred. ¡°I only know it to be a forgery because I remember writing it differently. We can open an investigation, but it will be a lengthy and expensive process.¡±

    Harald had sat back. ¡°How expensive? How lengthy?¡±

    ¡°The more you pay, the shorter the wait.¡± Ustim had considered. ¡°Say a month if you can put down an Aurora Veil? Less if you can pay more.¡±

    Harald had simply gazed at his father¡¯s representative, hope dying in his chest.

    ¡°Too expensive?¡± Ustim¡¯s expression had turned sympathetic. ¡°Then we can file it in the general claimant¡¯s division for, say, a single Radiant Dawn.¡±

    ¡°And that will resolve¡­ when?¡±

    Ustim spread his hands. ¡°Who can say? The system is terribly backed up. We¡¯re understaffed. If I append a note of urgency, perhaps¡­ six months?¡±

    Harald had passed a shaking hand over his face.

    ¡°Come,¡± Ustim had leaned forward. ¡°Perhaps this is a sign. I had my doubts about the wisdom of your venture. Perhaps it¡¯s best you think it over. Return home, Harald. I¡¯ll do some more investigating, and send word when I have an update.¡±

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    The wind had been taken right out of his sails. For Ustim to be so certain, so final¡­

    ¡°Thank you,¡± he¡¯d managed. No sense in speaking of his desperate financial straits. How he¡¯d liquidated everything to fund this venture. How he had virtually nothing to return to but Sam and debt after towering debt.

    Ustim already knew. After all, the old man had already loaned him copious amounts to keep his estate afloat.

    Beaten and furious, he slipped out of the impressive office, studiously not making eye contact with anyone.

    Almost he¡¯d gone home.

    But instead he¡¯d marched to the back of the Humble Petitioner¡¯s line, and not quite knowing what he was doing, settled in to wait.

    Angry, he¡¯d summoned his hated window.

    Name: Harald Darrowdelve

    Soul Nature: Hero¡¯s Son

    Soul Rank: Common

    Soul Ability: Moment of Resolve

    Class: None

    Class Actives: None

    Class Passives: None

    Endowments: None

    Strength: 6

    Dexterity: 6

    Constitution: 5

    Ego: 3

    Presence: 3

    Thrones: 0/7

    Scales: 1,024/10,000

    Artifacts: None

    Servitors: None

    He glared balefully at the information hovering before him. He hated his stats. His father had invested a single Aurora Veil to Awaken his Cosmos, the scale worth a thousand Copper Crescents, but after the novelty had worn off Harald had ceased to summon it.

    Yet there they were now, floating like an indictment. Nothing about it indicated his potential. Even his Soul Nature, his truest essence, described him relative to someone else. It had taken him three solid months of grueling work to raise his Strength and Constitution, and already they¡¯d fallen back to a pathetic 6 and 5.

    But he had a window, damnit. He had Awoken his Cosmos, even if he had yet to Ascend to his first Throne. He had potential.

    And he¡¯d show them all when he emerged victorious from the dungeon how wrong they¡¯d been about him.

    The bells rang the hours. The sun sank toward the western rooftops. Vendors plied the line, selling everything from spiced pies to good luck charms. So dejected did Harald look that they passed him by.

    The shadows lengthened.

    He¡¯d circled to the far side of the huge plaza when something caused him to look up.

    The dungeon had revolved, its faces glowing the dull gold of an emerging party. A pentagon flashed, and then four figures appeared on the Copper Gate arrival platform.

    Harald¡¯s breath locked up.

    Yeoric, Lucine, Derrick, and Gazurn.

    They were in good spirits. Derrick seemed to be telling a tale or a joke of some kind, for even from this distance Harald heard Lucine¡¯s tinkling laugh.

    He couldn¡¯t move. Couldn¡¯t breathe.

    The crew stepped off the platform and presented their backpack to the customs officer, who quickly set to counting out their scales.

    Harald would have killed to know what they¡¯d returned with.

    Not that much, apparently; a handful that were quickly sorted, taxed, and the remainder handed back.

    But the crew¡¯s good humor said it all.

    They¡¯d had a successful first venture.

    Other than a bloody bandage around Gazurn¡¯s arm, nobody seemed hurt.

    The crew projected their windows for the accountants¡¯ records, then departed. Just like that, they were gone.

    Tears scalded Harald¡¯s eyes.

    It wasn¡¯t fair.

    It wasn¡¯t fair.

    They should have suffered, the gods, the Fallen Angel herself should have punished them for their crimes.

    Now they were probably headed to the Burnished Goose for dinner and drinks. To celebrate.

    To plan their next raid.

    ¡°Hey,¡± said the hulking man behind Harald. ¡°Move.¡±

    The line had shuffled on. A good three or four yards had opened before him. Not even responding, Harald stepped forward.

    He felt numb. Ridiculous. The line was starting to shorten, droves of people taking tickets from attendants who were making their way along the Petitioner¡¯s line.

    ¡°Sir?¡± A bespectacled attendant stopped beside him. ¡°Do you plan to night raid, or would you like a placement ticket?¡±

    A placement ticket would give him priority come dawn, allowing him to rejoin the back of the line ahead of newcomers. A good two-thirds of the line was taking them.

    Night raids were much more dangerous.

    Why, Dad? He could still remember asking his father over dinner one night. Aren¡¯t the dungeons underground? What do they care if the sun¡¯s up or down?

    His father had been chewing heartily on a turkey leg, dressed in his new finery, and in a good mood for once. I don¡¯t know. It¡¯s not like the Fallen Angel¡¯s ever bothered to explain it to anybody. My guess? And he¡¯d leaned forward, his expression turning hard. My guess is that dark calls to dark. They can sense the absence of light in the world, down there, and come swarming up, like maggots.

    Harald had leaned back, horrified.

    ¡°Sir?¡± The attendant looked exhausted. ¡°Ticket?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± he heard himself croak. ¡°Thank you.¡±

    The wiry man glanced up and down Harald¡¯s length, as if surprised, then shrugged and moved to the next in line.

    The pace picked up as people left, tickets in hand. Half the tickets would be sold on the black market to folks who wanted to skip the line. But enough people stayed that it took another hour for Harald to reach the Petitioner¡¯s Gate.

    Night had fallen. The torches that burned on either side of the free-standing portal caused the sculpted iron to flicker and glow. It showed men and women venturing down, ever down, toward masses of fiends and monsters that surged up to meet them.

    ¡°Next,¡± called a bored guard. She was heavyset and her leather armor broken in, giving her a competent, callous air.

    Harald blinked, came to life, and stepped forward.

    There was nobody else ahead of him. Through the Petitioner¡¯s Gate he could see the lower half of the restless, ever-shifting dungeon portal.

    ¡°Welcome to the Petitioner¡¯s Gate,¡± drawled the woman. ¡°All who venture through do so at their own risk and relinquish any right to charge the city of Flutic, the Mining Consortium, or any other governing body with responsibility for what transpires below. The city exacts a sixty percent tax on all scales recovered. Do you agree to these terms?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± said Harald, staring past the woman at the revolving polyhedron. He was here. It was actually happening.

    ¡°Then in the name of the Grandees of Flutic, go forth brave adventurer and wrest glory and honor from the remains of the Fallen Angel.¡± The guard couldn¡¯t have sounded more bored. ¡°Next!¡±

    Harald passed through the Petitioner¡¯s Gate and moved to the taxation counter. Raiders had to declare their scales going in. A plump accountant was finishing up a plate of noodles slathered in orange sauce, which he set aside in annoyance. ¡°Anything to declare?¡±

    ¡°One Copper Crescent,¡± said Harald, tearing his gaze away from the hovering dungeon and pulling the scale free. ¡°Another in my lantern, I think.¡±

    ¡°Very well.¡± The accountant scribbled something on his pad, signed it, stamped it, then tore the page out and handed it over. Unlike the main gates, barely any details were kept track of here. ¡°Happy raiding. If you lose this invoice you¡¯ll have to pay the tax on all your scales coming out, not just your new ones, so keep it close.¡±

    ¡°Thank you.¡± Harald placed the invoice in a pouch with his Crescent, and then moved to the base of the five broad steps that led up to the Petitioner¡¯s platform, a humble deck with a crude railing. A second guard gestured for him to ascend.

    ¡°Stop there,¡± said the man when Harald stepped onto the platform proper. ¡°All Humble Petitioners automatically enter the first level of the dungeon. When the portal opens, move forward and pass through it without stopping. Just walk forward, the Gate will take care of the rest. Hesitation can result in a partial teleportation, which can be fatal, so keep moving once you start. Are you ready?¡±

    ¡°Ready,¡± whispered Harald.

    But he wasn¡¯t.

    He knew he wasn¡¯t.

    ¡°Then hold up your Copper Crescent to key to the first level.¡±

    The huge shape of the dungeon was shifting above him, vast and alien, throbbing, glowing, alive. Its small triangular faces and large pentagons shifted, spun, blurred. Around and around, marvelous and utterly terrifying.

    He¡¯d thought himself a jaded Flutic. Had seen the dungeon¡¯s thirty-two faced shape everywhere for as long as he could remember. Had come to the Dungeon Plaza as a child and gazed in awe at the distant polyhedron, amazed that his father was entering it, time and again.

    But never from so close.

    The air tasted metallic. He felt numb as he raised the delicate scale. Strangely inconsequential, as if everything that had happened to him today was meaningless in the face of this alien construct.

    The gate abruptly froze. The Iron Pentagon with one gold notch was facing him from six yards above, and its broad face suddenly hollowed out as if dissolving from within to become a depthless void of hungry black.

    It wanted to consume him.

    ¡°Light your bloody lantern!¡± barked the guard. ¡°Oh, it¡¯s too late, just move!¡±

    Harald placed his hand on the pommel of his sword and lurched forward. The Gate filled the world, loomed massive above him.

    He took three steps on the platform, and then the fourth was onto the air itself, as if an invisible ramp had appeared beneath him.

    He tilted back, ascending toward the swarming blackness of the pentagon. All sounds fell away, to be replaced with a rushing, droning hum, akin to a swarm of bees magnified a thousandfold.

    His heart was pounding, and terror gripped him by the throat.

    This was wrong, this was a mistake, he should back away, run to the Oak and Acorn, get a drink, laugh and curse and cry at the world, but not this, not this madness -

    His feet betrayed him. Even as his mind screamed in panic, he strode forward, up into the air, up into the Iron Pentagon, and was devoured.

 Chapter 3

    Harald stumbled out into darkness. The air was damp and close and cold, the smell mineral and earthy.

    No light. Nothing but pure black.

    For a moment it was all Harald could do to not scream. He stood there, hand clenched tight around the pommel of his sword, staring wide-eyed out at nothingness.

    Just the void.

    It had eaten him.

    ¡°No,¡± he whispered. ¡°Light, I need a light¡­¡± He dropped to one knee, his nausea and exhaustion forgotten, and swung his pack down off one shoulder to rest before him. Sam had packed it in another lifetime. Blindly he fumbled for the straps, unbuckled them, then thrust his hand inside to fumble around clothbound packages, small boxes, and there¡ªhis father¡¯s metal lantern.

    Staring out at nothing, he drew it forth, terrified that he¡¯d drop and break it. Instead he found the base catch, triggered it, and caught the tiny shelf that popped out. Felt with his fingers. There, yes, the space for a scale, with one lying flush.

    A Copper Moon.

    They couldn¡¯t afford anything fancier.

    He pushed the tray in, clicked it shut, then found the dial and slowly twisted it. The lantern siphoned power from the scale, and the filament coiled within the thick glass bloomed to life.

    Sweet, blessed light.

    An enormous weight lifted from Harald¡¯s shoulders. Raising his lantern, he twisted about, taking in the corridor.

    Behind him loomed the Iron Portal. He could see clear through it, the dark energy gone. It¡¯d wait for him here till he returned and fed a Copper Moon to activate it once more. No matter the depth, all it took to activate a portal home was a single, humble Copper Moon.

    Thank the gods Derrick had seen fit to throw one down.

    ¡°All right,¡± whispered Harald, rising to his feet and slinging his pack back over his shoulders. ¡°First floor. Very basic. As safe as it gets. You¡¯re fine. You¡¯re going to be fine.¡±

    But his body didn¡¯t seem to believe him. He couldn¡¯t settle, but kept twisting about, darting glances behind him. His heart was pounding, his headache, which had momentarily abated, came roaring back.

    He felt like absolute crap. If he¡¯d been home he¡¯d have crawled into bed and commanded Sam to not disturb him till he emerged several days later.

    But now here he was.

    Alone.

    In the dungeon.

    ¡°Hope you¡¯re proud, Dad.¡± He drew his blade, taking comfort in its beautiful, shimmering length. ¡°Here I go.¡±

    It wasn¡¯t his father¡¯s blade. That magnificent weapon had been lost when his dad had failed to return from a raid four years ago. But this was the best he could afford. For awhile there, after taking out the loans against the house, he¡¯d been flush with scales, and spending a Horizon¡¯s Whisper on a blade had felt smart. His life would depend on the quality of his weapon, wouldn¡¯t it?

    He¡¯d cut leaves one afternoon in mid-air as they¡¯d fallen from the orchard apple trees. That¡¯s how sharp it was.

    Rippling his fingers on the hilt, he clipped the lantern to his belt and glanced behind again.

    Nothing.

    But he wasn¡¯t alone down here. The first level normally featured little more than dire rats, gremlins, and ghoul moths, but right now those felt like overwhelming foes.

    And he¡¯d find them soon.

    Harald tried to steady his breathing and failed. He just couldn¡¯t catch his breath. But he kept on shuffling forward. The 1st Level corridor was just as he¡¯d heard described and seen painted countless times. Broad enough for four to walk down, the floor little more than packed dirt, the walls of moldering brick edged in gray blocks along the floor and where they met the ceiling.

    A labyrinth without rhyme or reason. People simply wandered till they found something of note. Maps were useless, for the labyrinth shifted and changed.

    Harald blinked away the sweat. How was his longsword already getting heavy? Should he cinch up his armor? No, he had to keep moving. He did so cautiously, pausing every few steps to listen, but the darkness endlessly retreated before him till he at last reached a T-junction.

    Left or right?

    The first floor was always level. No ramps up or down. No sunken chambers. No stairs and ladders. Just an endless lateral sprawl. What he was looking for was a chamber. Usually there were no doors. Just openings in the wall that led to rooms where monsters lurked, or if he was incredibly lucky, a cache which contained a small horde of the Fallen Angel¡¯s scales.

    Harald grimaced. This high up in the dungeon, he¡¯d only find Copper Moons, perhaps a Silver Starburst if he was lucky.

    But that¡¯s how even the mightiest heroes began, right? Finding a cache of scales that countless other teams had overlooked across the centuries?

    Harald paused and leaned against the wall. It was rough and crumbly against his shoulder. He felt so weak. His legs were rubbery, and he could taste the flat tang of panic¡ª or perhaps just heart burn?¡ª at the back of his throat. He felt dizzy, light headed. He should have gotten more water.

    He twisted suddenly and stared behind him, heart bursting into a pounding rhythm. Had he¡ª? No. Had he heard something? A scratching?

    In the darkness everything could see him and his lantern.

    ¡°Fuck,¡± he whispered, and clawed his long hair out of his face. Should he go back and see if there was something there? Or keep going down one side of the junction, and leave a potential threat at his back? But if he was imagining things, would he just end up going back and forth like a caged animal?

    Best to be careful. There was no rush down here.

    So he wiped his sweaty palms over the leather armor and began walking back toward the Iron Portal.

    Silence but for his panting.

    His stomach was cramping.

    His sword gleamed, its edge perfect. Some people claimed you should never take a virgin sword into the dungeon. That at the very least you should kill a goat or pig before going down, ensuring it was blooded.

    The notion had seemed ridiculous to Harald from the comfort of his favorite booth in the Oak and Acorn.

    Now he thought otherwise.

    A door appeared on the right.

    That couldn¡¯t be. There¡¯d been no door there before, and he hadn¡¯t reached the Portal.

    Harald froze, glanced behind him again, then stared at the door.

    Had it appeared since he¡¯d passed it? Possible, but¡­

    Unnerved, alone, aware of the darkness pressing in on him from just beyond the range of his lantern, he took in a shuddery breath and approached.

    A door meant a room, which meant violence. It was possible that he¡¯d find slain monsters inside, evidence of the passage of another party, but unlikely. Probably giant rats. They were the most common. There¡¯d be anywhere from four to ten of them. He¡¯d hold the door, prevent them from flanking him.

    Unless they were gremlins, in which case he needed to close quickly and cut them down. They¡¯d throw their hand bolts at him otherwise, their iron tips wickedly barbed to tear flesh if you simply tried to pull them out. Gremlins. They were the stuff of nightmares. His father had kept a stuffed head on Harald¡¯s bedroom mantlepiece, and its black glass eyes had always seemed to watch Harald while he lay there unable to sleep.

    He paused just before the opening. Listened, but couldn¡¯t hear anything over his pounding heart, his hoarse breathing. Damn it, couldn¡¯t he be quiet for just a second? He held his breath and listened, but still heard nothing.

    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    Wait.

    Yes, a scratching sound.

    Rats, then?

    You can do this, he told himself. You¡¯re Darius Darrowdelve¡¯s son. He was clearing dire rat nests when he was thirteen. You¡¯re a man full grown. Get your act together.

    So thinking, he unclipped his lantern, stepped into the doorway, and set the lantern down and just inside against the wall.

    The room was surprisingly large, which wasn¡¯t good. Brick, shadows everywhere, the floor covered in rubble and broken statuary. The classic stuff of beautiful women and athletic men, shattered as if by a child¡¯s tantrum.

    His blade gleamed before him.

    Movement.

    Harald almost cried out.

    Dark, slick fur. A rat slithered out of a cranny, seeming to balloon as it emerged, and with a shrill screech came coursing toward him.

    Damn it was fast!

    There were other squeaks, but Harald fought the urge to back out into the hallway, and instead raised his blade up high. Its tip banged against the ceiling, and just as the rat was upon him, he swung down, an oblique swing that caught the animal in the flank.

    The rat was the size of a small dog, its tail loathsome and naked, its mouth opened wide to reveal sharp incisors. Lithe and supple, it squeaked in pain as his blade smacked into its side and cut it open¡ªbut failed to kill it.

    Others were coming.

    Panicked, Harald stomped on the wounded rat, but it slithered out from under his foot and bit the side of his boot.

    ¡°Get off!¡± Harald¡¯s voice was almost a scream, and he swung the blade like a club at the rat again, missed, then stabbed it.

    The blade sank into the furry body, punching through to hit the dirt below.

    Harald felt a moment of triumph but then two more swarmed up his leg, terribly, wickedly fast, their claws finding easy purchase on his armor.

    Horrified, he let go of his sword and swiped at the large bodies. They wriggled up, supple and wiry, and one latched its fangs into the side of his neck.

    Harald screamed.

    Grabbed it with both hands and tore it free. It twisted and flexed in his grip, greasy and strong, and he simply hurled it away, his neck aflame with agony.

    Then the second bit his hand, the teeth sinking between his bones and crunching fingers.

    Harald screamed again, stumbled back into the hallway, and twisted about to smack the body against the wall.

    The rat didn¡¯t seem to care.

    Harald swung again and again, his cries desperate, horrified, and the rat simply bounced of the wall, its great tail lashing back and forth, its clenched teeth shredding his hand.

    More came boiling out of the room to climb up his legs, their fangs working at his armor.

    Pain in his ankle. Pain in his waist.

    Harald didn¡¯t know what to do, what to focus on. He took to swiping at the bodies that were climbing him, their fur gleaming in the shadowed hall. Tripped and crashed down onto his side.

    ¡°No! Help!¡± His cry was feeble, for he couldn¡¯t catch his breath. ¡°Help!¡±

    But there was nobody there to help him.

    He¡¯d have to save himself.

    Without any choice, Harald activated his Soul Ability, Moment of Resolve. He¡¯d hoped to save it for a worthwhile foe, but this was overwhelmingly bad already.

    Calm confidence flooded through him, washing away the fear and panic. His focus grew sharp. It wouldn¡¯t last long, so he had to make the most of it. There were five rats on him. His sword was in the room. He had to keep them off his face, had to get off the ground.

    Ignoring the biting, the gnawing, the screeching, Harald pushed up and rose to his knees.

    Beyond his Ability he could feel his gibbering panic. His wretched, mewling horror. The second the Ability ran out, he was done for.

    So he¡¯d make this count. He grabbed the rat that had chewed his hand into a mess and slammed its head as hard as he could against the wall. It bucked and flailed, but he slammed it again and again with everything he had.

    Strength 6 wasn¡¯t much, but it was enough.

    The rat let go, its jaw breaking, and Harald fought the urge to hurl it away again. Instead he smashed it one more time, then stood.

    His sword.

    He should never have dropped it.

    The rats were gouging and tearing him up. Their incisors were shredding his armor. His neck was still throbbing with awful pain. He clamped a hand to the wound. Blood was pouring forth.

    Not good.

    The rats writhed and bit, but they didn¡¯t actually weigh that much. Wearing them, he stumbled back into the doorway. His sword lay right there. Swaying, sweating, bleeding, Harald crouched to pick it up, then screamed as a rat ran up his back and bit right into his ear.

    It was disgusting. Its whiskers, its teeth, its claws on his cheek, the belly fur.

    Even his Moment of Resolve couldn¡¯t control that instinct. He tore the rat away with both hands, and the entire side of his head burst into fiery pain.

    Sobbing, miserable, terrified, he snatched up his sword and used it to saw at a rat that was working on his thigh armor.

    Its hide parted and it screeched furiously, letting go.

    One down, four more to go.

    Then his Ability ran out.

    The pain, the panic, the existential horror came roaring back. His movements became jerky, his hands suddenly feeling as if they were lost within oven mitts. He smacked the sword against the next rat, but couldn¡¯t get the edge on it.

    The rat shrieks and pain were starting to fade. The blood kept pouring from the side of his neck.

    Harald overbalanced, tripped backwards, and crashed onto his ass in the hallway.

    I¡¯m going to die here, he realized, the words stark and clear against the roiling background of his panic. I¡¯m going to die. Here, in the dark, alone, dead. A failure. Death. Going to die. I¡¯m going to die!

    New, panicked resolve filled him, and for a frenzied few seconds he sliced and batted at the rats, but they were too strong, too resilient. He cut them, but he couldn¡¯t get the point through their bodies to spit them through and through.

    Blood was washing down his front.

    He fumbled the sword, and it fell to the dirt beside him.

    ¡°Fuck!¡± he screamed, and tore a rat away from his chest, hurling it even as it arched its back to bite his hand. ¡°Fuck!¡±

    The shadows were rising. Was the lantern growing weak? Was his vision failing? Darkness was oozing in from everywhere, like oil seeping through parchment.

    The rats froze, lifting their heads, their bloodied muzzles.

    Harald, unable to stop himself, smacked and batted at them with his ruined hands, but then as one they poured off him, and with tails undulating as they fled back into their chamber.

    ¡°What?¡± He blinked, tried to orient himself, to understand what was happening.

    Had the dungeon itself taken mercy on him?

    Magic? Another adventuring party?

    He clamped his hand to his neck. There was a rough hole there. It didn¡¯t even hurt that much anymore. But there was just too much blood. The rat had to have torn an artery.

    Which meant he was done for.

    Death.

    Here.

    Here it came.

    The fear began to ebb.

    His shoulders slumped.

    He¡¯d known he¡¯d never match his father. Maybe that¡¯s why he¡¯d never really tried. Never really given it his all.

    Maybe that¡¯s why he¡¯d come in here by himself, hung over and exhausted.

    Because he¡¯d known it wouldn¡¯t have mattered.

    Dad had been right.

    He was weak. He was a failure.

    Ah well.

    That was¡­ that was fine, really.

    The darkness was congealing before him. Rising up into a column of glistening oil. Which was¡­ weird, right?

    Harald watched it, almost disinterested.

    It rose, and now the hallway was filling with this strange purple radiance, like the kind given off by shadowstones. Purple light, soft and deep, gradating to black, but in the center a figure was forming, tall and terrifying.

    Tall, terrifying, and really well dressed.

    But Harald felt too weak, too light headed to really feel much at all.

    So he just watched as the oily column became a person, complete with horns, burning eyes, and sartorial elegance.

    The demon stood cloaked in a luxurious, ink-black coat, cut with dramatic tailoring that billowed with liquid grace. The lapels were adorned with intricate silver accents, while chains and medallions bestowed an air of gothic opulence.

    A crisp black silk shirt, black trousers that conformed sleekly to his frame, an ornate belt centered with a large sapphire-like gem. Hands encased in gloves detailed with silver that echoed the coat¡¯s decoration.

    Why had a demon come all the way up to the 1st Level?

    To steal a kill from the rats?

    That made Harald chuckle, his chest barely rising at the thought.

    The handsome demon studied him, his visage framed by wild, untamed locks, its purple-burning eyes lurid and casting trails of fire across the walls, as if its stare alone had the power of a fiery lash.

    Most strange, it said, the voice echoing within Harald¡¯s mind, piercing the fatigue and pain. The progeny of Darius Darrowdelve. You are not what I expected.

    Hand still clamped to his neck, Harald closed his eyes and smirked. The pain was gone. That was good. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ that¡¯s what everyone says.¡±

    Yet you have brought my finger back to me.

    Harald felt the pendant rise from his chest and forced his eyes open. The black stone finger was drenched in his blood, and even as the demon took it the severed finger came to life, softening and flexing like a worm.

    ¡°Oh shit,¡± Harald whispered. It was the closest he could come to screaming. ¡°Vorakhar.¡±

    The very same. It tore the finger free of the cord, smoothly removed its glove, and placed the finger upon a stump on his left hand; the finger joined smoothly, and it flexed its hand, turning it to and fro as if admiring its restored nature. You have my thanks.

    A deep inner pull was drawing Harald away from the dungeon, the arch-demon, his emotions, his life.

    ¡°You¡¯re welcome,¡± he said, the courtesy reflexive. ¡°At least¡­ at least I accomplished something.¡±

    Would you have had it otherwise?

    The words gripped his mind, drew him back from the numbing depths. With immense effort he opened his eyes. Vorakhar was leaning forward, his commanding, roguishly handsome visage inches from Harald¡¯s own.

    I sense within you great potential. Squandered, uniquely wasted potential. But it is there. You could have been so much more than your father.

    Harald stared the demon right in its burning purple eyes. A rational, detached part of him knew he should have been gibbering with fear. He¡¯d been told and researched enough about this being to know just how powerful it was.

    Yet he was¡­ tired.

    Something was keeping him from dying. Holding him an inch above annihilation. The demon¡¯s will, probably.

    ¡°I died to a pack of rats on the 1st Level.¡± His voice was slurred. ¡°I think you¡¯re mistaken.¡±

    Vorakhar smiled, revealing wicked fangs. I am not. You have brought me my finger. You are a Darrowdelve. There is room for merriment here. A continuance of the dance. You have a choice. I can gift you the missing keystone, and give you a second, greater chance at life. Or I can watch you die here before me. A small, pathetic, unremarkable death.

    ¡°What are you saying?¡± Harald¡¯s thoughts were like leaves scattered by a storm wind. ¡°You can heal me?¡±

    Of course. Accept my gift, and I shall see you whole. I shall blast open the door of your soul so that nothing holds you back. Not others, not your body, not even the lies you¡¯ve told yourself.

    Harald stared blearily at the demon. He knew he should reject the offer. Better a clean death than to accept whatever a demon was trying to sell, right?

    But he didn¡¯t want to die. Fear arose within him and gripped him with clammy fingers about the throat. Death. To die here, alone in the dark with a demon. Only Sam would notice he¡¯d not returned.

    All his dreams, all his hopes.

    ¡°Fine,¡± he whispered.

    Excellent. Let us see what comes of this second chance. Here, child of Darius. Receive my charity, and know that, when we one day meet again, I shall seek to learn what you have made of yourself.

    Vorakhar reached out and pressed something sharp against Harald¡¯s brow. There was resistance for but a second, and then a small object slipped through skin and bone as Harald abruptly spasmed as if he¡¯d been blasted by a thunderbolt.

    For a moment all was blazing light and power, and then it was gone, leaving Vorakhar before him as before, grinning and satisfied.

    Know hunger, human child. Know endless, insatiable, ravenous hunger. Now go forth, and consume the world.

 Chapter 4

    Harald awoke in the tepid gloom of his dying lantern. He sat against the tunnel wall, legs kicked out before him, hands lying limp in his lap.

    Alive.

    It took him what felt like a decade to gather his wits. Fragments of memories came back to him in snatches. Rats. His blade flashing. Blood. Pain.

    Vorakhar.

    With a gasp he sat up, heart suddenly thundering.

    Had that been real? Had his father¡¯s greatest conquest returned to interrogate him?

    But his father had slain Vorakhar. It was his greatest claim to fame. He¡¯d wrested the Nightshard scale from the demon and cut off its finger as a memento.

    Harald stared out at nothing, trying to wrestle his memories into conformity with what he knew to be true, what he¡¯d been told all his life.

    But¡­ how was he even¡­ alive?

    He touched his neck. The wound was gone. The skin was smooth and unblemished. But his hands. His front. Everything was sticky with drying gore. The memory of pain returned, and he touched the side of his head.

    His ear was healed.

    Had this all been a nightmare? There were potions that could heal even the most grievous of wounds, but he¡¯d brought none of them down here.

    Then?

    He simply couldn¡¯t wrap his mind around it.

    Until words came whispering back: Know hunger, human child. Know endless, unsatiable, ravenous hunger. Now go forth, and consume the world.

    Harald shivered, his skin prickling down the length of his arms. He wasn¡¯t hungry. He felt numb. Alive, healthy even, but not starving.

    Why had the demon healed him? Why had it brought him back from the precipice of death?

    None of it made sense. If the demon had wanted vengeance on his father, then why help his son? Then again, had he already had his vengeance? His father had disappeared during a dungeon raid four years ago. Had Vorakhar claimed him?

    Ceaseless, endless questions.

    But something had indeed changed.

    Harald realized that despite his confusion, he no longer felt afraid. It was a simple but profound shift. He stared at the doorway before him, the dim light of the lantern illuminating the wreckage and refuse. No sign of the rats, but the prospect of facing them, while distasteful and clearly dangerous, no longer filled him with anxiety and terror.

    Harald looked down both sides of the corridor. The darkness pressed as close as ever, could possibly hide terrible monsters, but¡­

    Harald couldn¡¯t muster the emotion to care.

    If something came ravening out of the darkness to murder him, well, then he¡¯d die.

    Was it because he¡¯d nearly died already? He¡¯d never had this kind of indifference before. Or had the demon done something to him?

    Curious, he opened his window.

    Name: Harald Darrowdelve

    Soul Nature: Insatiable Void

    Soul Rank: Divine

    Soul Ability: Condemnation of Success

    Class: None

    Class Actives: None

    Class Passives: None

    Endowments: Demon Seed

    Strength: 6

    Dexterity: 6

    Constitution: 5

    Ego: 18

    Presence: 8

    Thrones: 0/7

    Scales: 1,024/10,000

    Artifacts: None

    Servitors: None

    ¡°What the hell,¡± whispered Harald, staring at the changes.

    The words hovered before him, unchanging.

    His Soul Nature had changed? That was meant to be impossible. Well, not technically, but virtually so¡ªpeople were resistant to change, and only one in a million managed to grow and evolve their basic sense of self to the point of changing their very soul. More often it happened to people who suffered overwhelming tragedy, whose minds and spirit were broken, who lost so much that they could never again see the same person in the mirror.

    But what did it even mean? ¡®Insatiable Void¡¯? That resonated with what the demon had promised, but again, he didn¡¯t feel hungry.

    And it didn¡¯t sound good.

    Harald shifted his weight against the wall, and reconsidered. It definitely had a better ring to it than ¡®Hero¡¯s Son¡¯, but to be defined as Insatiable, to be a Void? It sounded more in line with what a demonic creature might boast than a human. He¡¯d never heard of anything like it.

    Hesitant, he focused on the title so that a description appeared:

    Insatiable Void: You are the aching heart of ambition, the howling hunger that yearns to consume the world. A child of darkness, you will always seek the light, but will destroy all that you pursue.

    Harald¡¯s eyes widened in shock, and he reflexively dismissed the description.

    For a moment he could only stare out at nothing, and then he blinked and looked a the new rank, which was perhaps even more insane than the change itself: Divine.

    The word seemed to pulse with its own inner power.

    Divine. The ultimate rank. The highest accolade. One or two people every generation might be bestowed such a rank. It meant that his Soul Nature was sublime, the rarest of the rare, of the greatest potential. He could grow to the ultimate heights. If any of the noble houses discovered he was now so ranked, they¡¯d start a war to recruit him.

    Harald would have been thrilled if it wasn¡¯t intrinsically tied to Insatiable Void.

    And gone was his Moment of Resolve. Instead he now had¡­ Condemnation of Success?

    Reluctant, he activated the description:

    Condemnation of Success: Every success can be outdone. There is no end for you, for every end is but a beginning, and always will your eye be drawn to the horizon. Every peak shall prove false, and every victory bitter. Nothing shall suffice, and this shall be your goad, your lash, your blessing, your torment.

    ¡°What the actual fuck,¡± Harald whispered, stunned. He glared into the darkness, searching out some sign of the demon. ¡°What kind of Ability is that? Torment? Give me back my Moment of Resolve!¡±

    But there was no response.

    Snarling, Harald sat back and dropped to the next changes. His physical stats hadn¡¯t changed, more was the pity. Most folks didn¡¯t grow above 12 or 13, sure, but theoretically one could develop one¡¯s stats till god-like levels¡­ Gustav the Just, one of the old, pre-oligarchy kings and Harald¡¯s personal favorite, was said to have a Strength in the 20¡¯s.

    A stat boost there would have been nice.

    But¡­ his Ego had raised to¡­ 18?

    ¡°Impossible.¡± He stared at the number. It didn¡¯t change. It had been 3 before, the mark of a weak mind, an irresolute will, a condemnation of everything he was and his every venture. A strong willed man might have an Ego of 10. His father had possessed a stunning Ego of 14.

    18?

    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

    That didn¡¯t even make sense.

    The only way to raise your Ego was to grow into yourself, to have formative experiences that affirmed your confidence and sense of self. It wasn¡¯t something you could target. Something you could work on. It simply reflected the kind of person you were.

    Ego 18?

    Harald grimaced. That meant¡­ what? That he could accomplish anything he set his mind to?

    But other than his lack of fear¡ªwhich might be a natural consequence to dying¡ªhe still felt like himself.

    Harald Darrowdelve.

    Again he stared at this bloodied palms. He hadn¡¯t changed, had he?

    It was hard to tell, he finally admitted. He felt¡­ different. The lack of fear was part of it. But something else was off. He just couldn¡¯t pin it down.

    In comparison to his leap in Ego, his Presence of 8 was almost banal. Presence measured your forcefulness, your charisma, your bravery, confidence, bearing, how compelling a leader you were. It¡¯d been 3 before, just barely above what a child might possess.

    Not that he¡¯d ever been surprised. If it hadn¡¯t been for his wealth, he¡¯d never had made any friends. Never had received any attention. Something about him, some fundamental quality had made him feel like he was made of glass, insubstantial, and easily overlooked.

    Only his wealth had allowed him to live otherwise.

    But now he had a Presence of 8?

    That put him right up there with any competent adult. It wasn¡¯t the 12 or 13 of a noble house grandee, or a general, or whomever else, but it was rock solid.

    Maybe it was due solely to his new Nature? Maybe a bleed over effect that people would somehow sense¡­?

    Harald had no idea.

    And finally, his Endowment: Demon Seed.

    He didn¡¯t like the look of that. Hesitant, almost wincing, he activated the description:

    Demon Seed: in the depths of your being an unholy black seed has been planted. Water this seed, nurture its growth, and you shall become a conflagration of power and despair.

    ¡°What the actual hell?¡± Harald whispered, eyes wide. Vorakhar¡¯s doing, obviously, a gift, the way he¡¯d healed him, but¡­ demons were the enemy. There was no greater or simpler truth. It was the demons who reigned in the lowest depths of the dungeon, and who were the architects of the Shudderings that swamped Flutic with the rare but perilous floods of dungeon monsters who¡¯d swarm out into the streets.

    He placed his hand on his chest, half expecting to feel a swelling over his heart indicating the new presence.

    Nothing.

    Could he reject it? Would the death he¡¯d escaped claim him if he did? Did this make him Vorakhar¡¯s creature? Was he marked? Would the Inquisitors of the Fallen Angel now notice him as they did any demonic corruption?

    ¡°Damn,¡± he whispered, resting his head back against the wall. Water this seed, nurture its growth¡­ was that an inducement to engage in heinous, demonic activity? That he¡¯d be rewarded if he indulged in evil like a demon?

    If that was the case, then he was fine. There was no way he was about to start torturing children and murdering innocents. Perhaps he could simply ignore the Seed. Render it powerless by refusing to engage in the evil acts it craved.

    Somehow Harald didn¡¯t think it would be that simple.

    Harald dismissed his window and stared at his dying lantern. The dungeon was silent. Not a scratch, not a whisper to be heard.

    His own breathing was deep and slow. He felt dense, heavy, as if his body had been turned to lead.

    Everything, apparently, had changed. But he couldn¡¯t fathom what that meant. He didn¡¯t even try to wrestle with the new terms, the descriptions.

    Instead, he simply sat there, just being.

    Feeling himself out. Observing his emotions.

    Perhaps that was the greatest change.

    His ability to just sit still. He¡¯d always been restless. Driven by countless ideas and preoccupations. He¡¯d hated being alone.

    Sitting like this before would have been a torment.

    But now? It felt¡­. Right.

    His lantern continued to fade, and that was what prompted him at last to move. If it died, he¡¯d be trapped here in the dark, and finding his way out would have been a chore.

    A chore?

    He recalled his panic upon entering the dungeon. His febrile attempts to light the lantern. The terror, the horror.

    He could remember the emotions, but they didn¡¯t feel real any more. As if they¡¯d happened in a dream.

    That was weird. He should be terrified of the darkness. If a monster crept up on him in the dark, he¡¯d be done for.

    But his own fate no longer moved him.

    Well, that wasn¡¯t quite true.

    The idea of his dying here didn¡¯t terrify him, but rather, it¡­ stirred a deep sense of¡­ outrage?

    Harald closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Pictured himself being attacked by a horde of rats and pulled down in the dark. Dying. Lying still as they feasted on his flabby body.

    No.

    The refusal was absolute.

    But it wasn¡¯t fueled by fear. Nor a greedy desire to just live.

    Well, almost. It came from¡­

    Harald forced himself to focus, to dig deep into that absolute sense of negation.

    He didn¡¯t want to die because he wanted¡­ more.

    More?

    More from life, perhaps. From himself.

    It was a massive, inchoate feeling. He couldn¡¯t put it into words. But if anything tried to kill him down here, he¡¯d fight harder than he¡¯d ever fought before to live.

    Because¡­ because he wasn¡¯t done.

    Harald opened his eyes. What did that even mean?

    His lantern flickered.

    He¡¯d figure it out later. For now, he had to get out.

    His body ached. Whatever the demon had done to him, it hadn¡¯t changed his basic constitution. Grimacing, he rose, and stepped into the doorway.

    There was no sign of the rats.

    His blade lay on the ground, its edge smeared with black blood and rat hair. He took it up, hefted it. It was as alien in his grip as ever. He went to sheath it, then stopped. Instead, he wiped its length carefully on his leg, clearing off the blood as best he could, but the gore had dried, grown sticky.

    If he sheathed it now, it¡¯d just gum up the scabbard.

    So he took up the lantern and simply kept the sword out.

    He cast one look around the area. A single dead rat lay where he¡¯d stabbed it just inside the doorway, a Copper Moon hovering in the air above it. Beyond it lay a second corpse, the one whose head he¡¯d crushed. It had managed to crawl a few yards into the room before expiring.

    A second Copper Moon hovered over it.

    Harald snorted in bleak amusement. The spoils of his raid. He took both scales from the air and dropped them into his pouch. Not even enough to pay for a ride home.

    Ah well.

    Resting his sword over one shoulder, he strode back to the Iron Portal.

    It waited for him, massive and ponderous, its pentagonal form filling the corridor. Returning home was simple. You simply held your hand out a Copper Moon to the portal, waited for it to awaken, and then stepped through.

    All returns took raiders back to the Dungeon Plaza.

    Harald raised his hand, scale in hand, and drew closer. The center of the portal swirled to life, streams of dark smoke swirling into a spiral and then widening out till the whole face was filled with shimmering nothingness.

    Incredible.

    Harald watched the shimmering surface for a moment, then took a deep breath and stepped through.

    Only to emerge onto the Petitioner¡¯s platform, right where he¡¯d started.

    Dawn was breaking. The sky above Flutic was a delicate tracery of cream-colored clouds touched salmon pink at the edges. The blue faultless and light and pure. The air was crisp, cool, and laden with the smells of the plaza. Sawdust and metal, sweat and the mineral tang of dew.

    Harald closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, filling his lungs.

    Glorious.

    ¡°Hey.¡± Harald opened his eyes. A new guard stood off to one side, his eyes wide. ¡°What the hell happened to you?¡±

    Harald glanced down at himself. Oh. Right. He was drenched in congealed blood. Glancing up, he saw that the guard at the gate and the first dozen Humble Petitioners were also staring at him.

    ¡°Nothing much,¡± he said at last.

    ¡°Well, damn. You can¡¯t walk around the city like that. After you pay up, either get a shower at the Angel¡¯s Rest or use a rain barrel to wash up.¡±

    The Angel¡¯s Rest was a massive inn that took up an entire side of the plaza. Three stories tall, it housed hundreds, most of them visiting foreigners intent on raiding. But its huge common room and immense selection of beers were legendary, as well as the basic services it offered raiders going in or coming out of the dungeon.

    ¡°All right,¡± Harald said.

    ¡°Then head down to pay the tax and get moving,¡± snapped the guard. ¡°Let¡¯s go, people are waiting.¡±

    Harald nodded, descended the steps, and made his way to the broad counter beside the gate behind which an accountant and guard waited.

    They watched him approach with horrified fascination. Harald stopped before them, blade still resting on his shoulder, and raised his brows.

    ¡°Oh.¡± The guard rose to her feet. She was young, a fresh cut on her cheek inflamed and healing into a scar, her eyes a beautiful piercing blue. ¡°Right. Sorry. Please place all recovered scales in the appropriate buckets for evaluation. And do you have your entry invoice? Any attempt to smuggle scales out will both fail and, ah, result in your arrest.¡±

    ¡°Sure.¡± Harald dug out his two new Copper Moons and dropped them in the first of the ten buckets. ¡°That¡¯s all.¡±

    The accountant, a spindly, older man with half-moon spectacles, leaned forward to peer into the bucket. ¡°Two Coppers? From the way you look, young man, I¡¯d expected an Aurora Veil at the very least!¡±

    ¡°Two Coppers,¡± confirmed Harald. ¡°Here¡¯s the invoice.¡± And he pulled out the bloodied paper and handed it to the accountant.

    ¡°Oh.¡± The man was less than enthused. ¡°You entered with two others, which I can detect on you. Very well, we¡¯ll take the one Copper and you can continue with the other.¡±

    ¡°What happened?¡± asked the guard, her eyes wide. ¡°You look like¡­¡± She shook her head in wonder.

    ¡°It¡¯s hard to explain.¡± Harald took his invoice back after the man signed it, then picked up his one scale from the bucket. ¡°Can I go?¡±

    ¡°Sure,¡± said the guard.

    Harald nodded, dropped his scale into his pouch, then made his way out the exit, as demarcated by roped pilons.

    Everyone stared at him, but he met no eyes. Instead, he crossed the plaza to the closest rain barrel set flush against a wall, and there considered himself.

    His leather armor was both badly damaged and soaked in blood. The smartest thing would be to simply remove it. This he did, unknotting and unclasping the different pieces till it all lay in a pile at this feet.

    The dawn air was cool on his sweaty shirt, whose white contrasted sharply with the red stripes and swathes at the elbows, cuffs, and neck.

    That done, he considered the barrel. The water within was murky from past usage. Once he¡¯d have recoiled from the film that scummed the surface, insisted on a bath, but he was too tired to care.

    So he dunked his head in.

    The water was chill, and he rubbed at this long hair, at his face while submerged. Again and again he repeated this till his shirt was soaked, and then worked on his hands till they were marginally clean.

    The water was muddy brown when he was done.

    He washed the length of his sword with a small cloth, then dried it as best he could on his breeches before sheathing it at last.

    Gasping from the cold, he considered his pile of leathers, then fit the smaller pieces inside the large and bound them all together with some of the thongs. This he hefted over one shoulder, and finally done, he looked around the plaza once more.

    The Humble Petitioner¡¯s line was already forming, raiders with tickets rushing to get into line and presenting them to assistants as they did so. The floating dungeon polyhedron revolved in place, presenting a triangular portal to a group of House Celestaris raiders who stood on the Silver departure platform, their armor gleaming in the morning light.

    Hawkers cried out their wares, and the smell of freshly baked meat pastries and chicken skewers filled the air.

    Harald¡¯s mouth flooded with spit, and for a moment he considered buying breakfast.

    But his two Coppers were all the scales he had left in the world.

    Best to save them.

    Hefting his armor, he raked his sodden hair back from his face and set to returning home. It was going to be a long walk back to the Angelic Quarter where his manor house was located.

    No sense in waiting.

 Chapter 5

    It took Harald a long time to walk home.

    Not that he didn¡¯t know the way; it was a simple matter to follow the curvature of the Eternal Circuit all the way round to the Angelic Quarter.

    But he moved as if through a dream. There was a constant sense of latent urgency, but it wasn¡¯t to get home; rather it was to pierce the fog through which he moved. A mental fog that, on some level, he¡¯d always existed in.

    Leather armor banging against his knee, other hand resting on the pommel of his blade, he drifted deeper into the city, avoiding faster paced traffic, allowing those with greater urgency to swirl around and past him. He ignored solicitations, the cheery cries from hawkers and shop keeps, the curious stares, the appraisal from the occasional guard patrol.

    He¡¯d blink and realize he¡¯d been standing still for he knew not how long, gazing up at a statue of Preceptor Ulrich, say, or fetched up against a black metal railing that lined a public garden.

    He couldn¡¯t quite recall what he¡¯d been thinking about whenever he came back to himself. It felt as if he wandered not through Flutic, but through banks of mist, a miasma composed of all his old emotions and desires, his hang-ups and fears, his ambitions and hopes, his regrets and bitterness.

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong with me?¡± he whispered as he stared at his reflection in a confectionary shop window. Within, a lady in a prim white apron was watching him warily, as if he were a strange dog that might bite. He blinked, saw the endless rows of cupcakes and delicacies, and realized he was probably keeping her clientele away.

    Returning to the sidewalk, he tried for greater speed, stretching out his stride, but soon this exertion exhausted him. Sweat matted his filthy long hair, caused runnels of pink to flow down his face.

    ¡°Excuse me, sir.¡±

    Harald turned to see two guards marching up, their black and gold uniforms impeccable in the late afternoon sun. ¡°Yes, officers?¡±

    They hadn¡¯t expected him to sound so polite; they drew up before him, frowning. ¡°We don¡¯t know from what part of town you¡¯ve come, but you can¡¯t enter the Angelic Quarter looking like that.¡±

    ¡°Hmm?¡± Harald glanced down at himself. ¡°Oh. Of course. My apologies. I¡¯m coming from the dungeon. I live just up ahead, on Baldric Avenue. Harald Darrowdelve.¡±

    ¡°You do, do you?¡± Their skepticism was obvious. ¡°Then perhaps we can escort you home to ensure you arrive safely.¡±

    ¡°Of course.¡± He knew what that meant. If it turned out he didn¡¯t live on Baldric Avenue, they¡¯d arrest him for wasting their time. And if he did, their presence at his side would assure the finer citizens of Flutic that all was in hand.

    But their presence was what he needed to remain focused. Soon they turned onto his familiar avenue, and marched up to the wrought iron gate. Carriages rolled by, elegant servants and couriers rushed along the sidewalk, and a dozen pastel colored kites flew in the near distance, no doubt from Season Park just a few blocks over.

    ¡°Thank you, officers,¡± said Harald. ¡°I¡¯ll see myself in.¡±

    ¡°Of course, sir.¡± Their skepticism was obvious. ¡°We¡¯ll watch from here and make sure everything is all right.¡±

    Harald nodded and pushed open the gate. Its rusted hinges screeched, and the sound reminded him of the dire rats, causing him to flinch. He strode up the graveled driveway, noting as if for the first time the many weeds growing up through the white pebbles. He¡¯d seen them every time before, but never really noticed them. Nor the ragged state of the hedges, the unpruned wildness of the bushes, the way the flowerbeds had gone to seed.

    Music came from within, a wild sawing of a fiddle, and the front door stood ajar. Vic and the others had no doubt returned from the Oak and Acorn to enjoy his hospitality.

    Harald waved to the guards and let himself in. They¡¯d not leave just yet. The front door being open was suspicious, and no doubt they¡¯d come sniffing around soon to ensure nothing was amiss.

    Their prerogative.

    Stepping into his entrance hall, Harald dropped the bloodied armor by the fitting bench but some instinct bade him keep his sword buckled.

    He listened, head cocked to one side; the fiddling was wild, yes, but beautifully executed. Evernessa. She¡¯d been accepted to the Flutic Conservatory on a full scholarship before being having her invitation revoked for ¡®conduct unbecoming of a lady.¡¯

    A crash sounded, something large and made of glass, followed by raucous laughter. It came from the ballroom at the back of the manor.

    Harald advanced.

    Down the entrance hall, through the connecting corridor, and then a left into the ballroom.

    Once this room had been a splendor. His father had been fascinated with hosting ostentatious events for only a couple of seasons, but even now Harald could remember the great dresses, the symphonies and waltzes played by the musicians, the catering staff, the orderly ranks of dancers swinging about.

    Those days were long gone.

    Vic and a half-dozen others were lurching about as Evernessa played her fiddle, all of them wearing elaborate costumes that it took Harald a moment to realize they must have taken from the wardrobes upstairs. His father and mother¡¯s finery. They¡¯d donned old wigs, plastered their faces with powder, and were weaving about in a mockery of an old dance as they half doubled over with laughter.

    Sam stood to one side, her blank expression failing to mask the fury in her eyes, her hands linked behind her back as she glared at the cavorting group.

    Harald just stood there in the great entranceway, watching.

    His friends.

    He¡¯d known Vic the longest, some five years now. But he¡¯d gotten into escapades with each and every one of them. Late night debaucheries, visits to various brothels, even been arrested a handful of times by exasperated watchmen before bribing everyone¡¯s way out.

    His friends.

    Harald studied them. Their faces, the way they staggered about, already drunk.

    A great sadness settled upon him. They¡¯d known he¡¯d gone off to the dungeon, had been gone for who knew how long, yet here they were, acting as fools.

    ¡°Harald!¡± Vic threw up his arms, grin wide. ¡°Our darling war hero returns! Nessa, quit your squalling! Everyone! Look who¡¯s here!¡±

    The music cut out and everyone turned to smile at him.

    ¡°Harald dear,¡± said Nessa, tossing her mass of dark curls behind her shoulder. ¡°You look frightful. Whatever have you been up to?¡±

    ¡°Yes!¡± cried Proviss, reeling. ¡°And why, by the Fallen Angel¡¯s tits, weren¡¯t we invited?¡±

    Vic roped his arm around Proviss¡¯ shoulders. ¡°Because Harry-boy went into the dungeon. The dungeon! Him. Can you believe it! I can¡¯t. Confess, darling. You were at the Kitty Kat Club, weren¡¯t you?¡±

    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

    Sam was staring at Harald, her eyes wide. She strode over abruptly as if freed from some spell. ¡°Sir?¡± Her voice was hushed. ¡°Are you all right?¡±

    ¡°Yes, thank you, Sam.¡± Harald couldn¡¯t tear his eyes away from his glittering crew of friends. Their rambunctious smiles, their heightened anticipation. He knew what they wanted. For him to say something filthy and bless their presence here. For him to affirm that he was Harry-boy, their good and deep-pocketed friend. That this was alright, that they were still in his good graces.

    Actually, they fully believed they were.

    Why wouldn¡¯t they think as much?

    They always had been.

    ¡°Vic, everyone.¡± His voice trembled. ¡°I¡¯ve had a long day. I¡¯d like you all to leave.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Vic¡¯s fatuous grin didn¡¯t falter. He released Proviss and staggered forward a few steps. ¡°What was that you said, Harry?¡±

    A deep breath. ¡°All of you. Out. Now.¡±

    Blinks. Astonished gapes. They turned to stare at each other, as if checking to see who¡¯d figure out the joke first.

    ¡°Well, well, well. I guess your credit finally ran out at Kitty¡¯s?¡± Vic¡¯s smile returned, but his gaze had sharpened. ¡°Doesn¡¯t mean you should take it out on your poor friends. We were waiting for you! To celebrate your¡ªyour whatever happened in the dungeon. You did go, didn¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°I did.¡±

    Nessa bounced her bow upon one shoulder. ¡°And you won¡¯t tell us about it?¡±

    Vic raised a finger as if a capital idea had just occurred to him. ¡°Why don¡¯t you tell Sam here to run you a bath. We¡¯ll prepare a modest little feast in the kitchen, and when you come down we¡¯ll be as docile as lambs as you tell us all about it. What do you say?¡±

    ¡°No, thank you.¡± This was surprisingly hard. The bonds that held their little group together were endlessly forgiving as long as he was the one accommodating their desires.

    Vic¡¯s smile grew quizzical. ¡°No? But what is an adventure if it¡¯s not shared? I think I saw some bottles of 762 Verillion in the corner of your cellar. Sam, be a dear and fetch them for us? Take your time, Harry. We¡¯ll wait, quiet as dormice, till you¡¯re ready to share whatever¡¯s happened with your friends.¡±

    Everybody stared at him, waiting, expectant.

    How easy it would be to relent. To agree. To be¡­ agreeable. So earn their smiles, to keep their friendship, to share his outrages with them, to endure their teasing, to be part of their raillery.

    To belong.

    But to his surprise he realized he simply didn¡¯t want to. Didn¡¯t want to share what Yeoric and the others had done. What Ustim had revealed. His wait in the Humble Petitioner¡¯s line.

    His encounter with Vorakhar.

    In fact, he couldn¡¯t think of anything less appealing.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Vic.¡± His voice was soft, and caused more than one of his friends to lean forward. ¡°The party¡¯s over. All of you, please leave. Now.¡±

    Vic¡¯s eyes glittered. The others glanced at him, apprehensive, wary.

    Would Vic simply refuse? What then?

    The air grew turgid with tension.

    ¡°Hello?¡± A stern voice from the entrance hall. ¡°City watch. Anybody home?¡±

    ¡°The Fallen Angel wept,¡± said Vic, his smile vicious. ¡°You brought the city watch with you? I say, Harry, that¡¯s remarkably direct of you.¡±

    The urge to explain, to share how they¡¯d escorted him home out of suspicion of his own appearance surged to the fore. Harald stifled it.

    There was no need to say anything.

    It made him acutely uncomfortable, but he simply held Vic¡¯s stare.

    ¡°Incredible,¡± said Nessa, tucking her fiddle under her arm. ¡°Are we being treated like common criminals?¡±

    ¡°Sam, please see to the watch,¡± said Harald.

    Sam nodded and hurried out of the ballroom.

    Vic approached, his smile predatory. ¡°You¡¯re clearly not yourself, Harald. Whatever happened must have been more extreme than we realized. I apologize. For not taking this more seriously. We¡¯ll of course see ourselves out.¡±

    Vic stopped before him and dusted off Harald¡¯s shoulders. ¡°Take your time, rest up. I¡¯ll drop you a note soon. All right?¡±

    ¡°Sure, Vic.¡± Harald didn¡¯t move. For the first time he was able to meet the other man¡¯s gaze without flinching. How many times had he swallowed his doubts, bitten back his protests, accepted unsavory outcomes because he simply couldn¡¯t stand up to his friend?

    But after facing down Vorakhar, Vic felt far more manageable.

    ¡°Very well! Come, my merry crew! Let¡¯s deposit these faded fineries in the vestibule, and see ourselves out. Our gracious host is in need of rest. Who can blame him?¡±

    And with that Vic strode past Harald.

    The others followed suit, far less assured and composed as their leader. Evernessa studied him, her expression somewhere between quizzical and curious, and then they were gone, leaving only a shattered carafe, a sideboard of glasses and liquor, torn articles of clothing, and a number of couches and divans that they¡¯d dragged into the ballroom from the second parlor.

    Harald exhaled.

    That had felt almost as intense as facing down the dire rats.

    He returned to the entrance hall, where Sam was speaking with both guards.

    ¡°Master Darrowdelve,¡± she said brightly. ¡°These kind members of the city watch were worried that something might be amiss. I¡¯ve assured them that all is well, and thanked them for their service.¡±

    ¡°Surely we can offer them a refreshment for their bother?¡± asked Harald, linking his hands behind his back. ¡°Gentlemen?¡±

    The lead guard glanced suspiciously back and forth between the two of them, and then reached a decision; his expression smoothed over and became studiously neutral. ¡°You are too kind, sir. But my companion and I shall return to our patrol. Thank you for indulging our curiosity.¡±

    ¡°Of course.¡±

    The guards bowed stiffly, then stepped out the front door.

    Sam¡¯s smile immediately disappeared as she raised an eyebrow at Harald. Her curiosity and concern were obvious, but he raised a hand, forestalling her questions. ¡°Let¡¯s wait till we¡¯re alone.¡±

    She nodded. ¡°Leave this to me, sir. I¡¯ll send for you when they¡¯re gone?¡±

    Harald couldn¡¯t restrain a pained smile. She knew him too well, his aversion to conflict, his hatred for ¡®scenes¡¯. Normally he¡¯d have accepted gratefully and fled upstairs to hide in his room till whatever unpleasantness was taken care of.

    ¡°Thanks, but I¡¯ll take care of this myself.¡±

    Sam¡¯s incredulity broke through for a second before she mastered herself. She was clearly dying to ask him a hundred questions, but her training asserted itself. ¡°Of course, sir. I¡¯ll see to cleaning the ballroom.¡±

    He nodded and watched as she left.

    Slender, his age, her golden hair braided and coiled as always into a tight bun upon the crown of her head. She¡¯d always been there. A part of the household, the daughter of his father¡¯s old butler, a maid at first, and then playing an ever more important role as each servant was released from their oath or simply transferred to another household, till one day it was just Harald and Sam, playing at master and servant in this great echoing manor.

    Not playing, no; he¡¯d never seen her as anything but a servant before. She¡¯d always been Sam, the worker of miracles, miracles that were entirely her responsibility to manifest. To keep the rooms tidy, to clean up after his messes, to prepare his baths, clean his clothing, cook his meals, to keep the estate as respectable as possible, to prod him to answer his mail, to remind him of appointments.

    To be there when he picked himself up from his latest failure with an encouraging word.

    To tell him it was all right, and that there was always tomorrow.

    Harald frowned.

    How had he taken her for granted all this time? Sure, she was oathbound, which ensured her unquestioning service, but even so compelled, she¡¯d never shirked, never complained, never¡­ doubted him.

    Harald stared after where she¡¯d gone. It was as if she was the only one who¡¯d ever seen him as he wished to be seen.

    And yet he¡¯d always taken her for granted.

    ¡°Here we are,¡± called Vic, vivacious and smiling once more as he emerged from a side door. ¡°Ready to be tossed out on our ears like the terrible friends we are.¡± His smile invited Harald to join him, to become complicit in the humor. ¡°How can we ever repay you for your kindness, dear Master Darrowdelve?¡±

    The others were filing out, tugging on their jackets and coats.

    ¡°No need for repayment, Vic.¡± Harald stepped aside so there was nothing between Vic and the front door.

    ¡°Your generosity knows no bounds. We¡¯ll be at the Oak later tonight. Will you come? The first round¡¯s on me.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think so, no.¡± Oh, the urge to explain, to defuse the situation with a joke, to say something silly or arch or wry.

    But he didn¡¯t want to.

    Vic paused, waiting for more, then nodded his head. ¡°Get some rest, old fellow. If I don¡¯t see you tonight, I¡¯ll come round in a day or two to check on you.¡±

    Harald wanted to tell him not to bother, but that felt like going too far. He¡¯d known the man for five years. Vic had been there during his darkest moments after his father¡¯s death. Had consoled him with his gallows humor, had lifted him from the depths of despair by dragging him from one tavern to another brothel.

    And even if Harald had footed the bill, it had kept him going. Kept his head above the perilous waters that sought to drown him.

    So all he did was incline his head.

    Everyone filed out after Vic, some muttering their goodbyes, others giving small waves. Evernessa slowed as she passed him, her head canted to one side. ¡°I don¡¯t know what¡¯s gotten into you, Harry.¡± Her smile was all pleasant confusion till she leaned in to kiss him on the cheek and her voice dropped to a whisper. ¡°But I like it.¡±

    And then they were gone.

    Harald closed his front door and pressed his brow to the cold wood.

    Once a whisper like that from Nessa would have sent his heart racing and his imagination aflame.

    But now he barely felt moved.

    For a long while he stood thus, not thinking, heart pounding, fighting off a sudden wave of exhaustion.

    And then he sighed, turned around, and gazed up at the portrait of his father.

    The man smiled down at him, vulpine and predatory, amused and disdainful.

    Harald met the man¡¯s stare, and for the first time it didn¡¯t feel like he was being condemned.

    Instead, it felt like a challenge.

    ¡°I¡¯m not done yet, Father.¡± Harald frowned up at the painting. ¡°Just you wait. I¡¯m just getting started.¡±

 Chapter 6

    Exhaustion swamped Harald like a lead cloak. When had he eaten last? He¡¯d not had a bite today, hadn¡¯t eaten the day before.

    Normally he¡¯d have collapsed by now, but the demon had done something to him, restored him in some fashion, so that he was only exhausted, not delirious.

    Still. He couldn¡¯t remember the last time he¡¯d walked so much, been through so many trials, without a restorative meal or glass of wine.

    Woozy, he considered just stumbling upstairs to collapse in bed.

    But no.

    He was filthy. Bloody.

    ¡°Sam?¡± He pitched his voice to carry.

    A moment later she appeared at the back of the entrance hall, alert and concerned. ¡°Harald? Are they gone?¡±

    ¡°All gone.¡± He wanted to sag against the wall. His feet were starting to throb. But he forced himself to straighten. ¡°Can you bring some water upstairs? I need to bathe.¡±

    ¡°Of course.¡± Again he saw her bite back on a million questions. ¡°It¡¯ll take some time to warm it, though.¡±

    ¡°No need. I¡¯m too tired. If I wait I¡¯ll pass out.¡±

    She froze. ¡°Cold? You¡¯re going to wash with cold water?¡±

    ¡°It won¡¯t be pleasant,¡± he smiled. ¡°But yes. Actually, forget the bath. I¡¯m too filthy. You can just dump buckets on me by the well.¡±

    Her eyes widened in horror.

    Harald spread his arms, his smile widening to a grin. ¡°Look at me, Sam. It¡¯d take a hundred buckets to wash this blood out. Easier if we just get it done by the well. It¡¯s not as if there¡¯s anybody here to be shocked.¡±

    She dry swallowed. ¡°As you say, sir.¡±

    ¡°I mean, obviously you are.¡± He grimaced. ¡°But I don¡¯t think you care, do you?¡±

    ¡°I¡­ whatever you think is best, Harald. But getting dried blood out with cold water will be¡­ difficult.¡±

    ¡°Right.¡± He pondered. ¡°We¡¯ll do the best we can by the well, then you can heat up something for me to finish off with.¡±

    ¡°Then I¡¯ll get the water heating now.¡±

    ¡°Sure. I¡¯ll meet you by the well.¡± And he ignored her spluttering to limp past her, through the manor, and out the back door to the patio. He crossed to the well located just outside the kitchen door, and regarded the winch with antipathy.

    Sam darted past him and knocked the waiting bucket into the well, then set to turning the handle, the definition in her forearms a testament to her strength. When had she grown so athletic? Harald wanted to protest, but he didn¡¯t know why. This was literally her function. She was happy to fulfill it. Then why did he feel like doing it himself?

    It made no sense.

    Plus he was exhausted.

    Mystified, he staggered over to an iron patio chair and sat. Ah, that felt good. His whole body ached, as if it were slowly starting to realize just how abused it had been. He slouched back and watched Sam work, the ease of her labor painting a clear picture of her fitness. Huh. She really was in good shape. The first bucket emerged, she dumped its contents into a large tin pail with swift grace, and then repeated the process.

    Harald¡¯s eyelids grew heavy.

    The late afternoon sun was delicious.

    Sam awoke him with a diffident touch to the shoulder. ¡°Sir?¡±

    ¡°Hmm?¡± He sat up, blinking. ¡°Oh. Sam. Ready?¡±

    ¡°I took the liberty of heating enough water for two baths. The first to wash off the filth, the second for you to rest in. You look done in, sir.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡± He rubbed at this face. The sun had sunken an inch toward the horizon. He¡¯d been asleep for at least an hour. ¡°Thanks. I¡¯ll still dump a bucket or two over my head here.¡±

    She frowned, went to protest, then bit back her words. He could practically hear her thoughts: this was unseemly, the lord of Darrowdelve shouldn¡¯t wash off in the back garden like a laborer, plus he loathed cold water¡­

    Grinning, he levered himself out of the chair and almost fell over. The muscles of his thighs had seized up. And his calves. And his back.

    He hissed, lurched, and then Sam was there, gliding neatly under his arm to steady him. ¡°Thanks.¡±

    ¡°Best if you soak,¡± she said firmly.

    ¡°After the rinse.¡±

    She glared up at him, her blue eyes bright, then inclined her head stiffly. ¡°As you say, sir.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m in worse shape than I thought.¡± He limped to the well, and there rested against the stonework as Sam brought up another bucket. This he took, and with a deep breath dumped over his head.

    It wasn¡¯t cold.

    It was freezing.

    Gasping and spluttering, he came fully awake, and handed the bucket back. Not wasting time, he rubbed at his scalp, trying to wash out the gummy blood. His face, the back of his arms. Sam set to drawing another bucket, and this time she held it up herself.

    ¡°Sir?¡±

    He nodded, gasping too much to speak, and she dumped it on his head.

    Gasping again, he rubbed at himself till he realized that his nails were better suited for removing the congealed blood. A third bucket, and then a fourth.

    ¡°That¡¯s g-g-good,¡± he stammered, jaw shivering. ¡°How about that h-heated bath now?¡±

    ¡°Very good, sir.¡± Sam was absolutely polite, which meant she was furious. Ah well. Smiling ruefully, shivering and shaking, he followed her into the kitchen, then took the stairs by himself up to suite. He was leaving wet footprints behind, but that couldn¡¯t be helped.

    The shivering only made the soreness in his muscles feel worse. He jogged into his rooms and saw his large tub pulled out into the center of the room. The mess from the night before¡ªno, two nights before¡ªhad been cleared away. Everything was pristine, his bed made, the rugs straightened, the divan and its cushions pushed back under the window.

    Harald stiffly pulled his shirt, breeches, and underclothes off, then stepped into the bath.

    Ah.

    Sheer bliss.

    His legs lost all strength, and he sank into the steaming water. Rose petals floated on the surface amongst languid archipelagos of scented oil, and bath salts crunched under him as he lay back against the curved edge of the bath.

    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    The heat sank into his muscles, into his joints, and he immediately stopped shivering.

    Harald closed his eyes.

    This was the life.

    He could live the rest of his years right here, soaking away his troubles.

    He frowned.

    Except. That wasn¡¯t true, was it?

    As wonderful and restorative as this was, he didn¡¯t just want to lie there like a pig wallowing in mud.

    Harald opened his eyes. Where had that image come from? Baths were one of his favorite hobbies. He¡¯d sometimes spent entire days in them.

    But now, as good as it felt, he didn¡¯t want to linger.

    Sitting up, he took the rough washcloth and bar of soap and slowly got to work, confused.

    The water quickly darkened, and he decided to stop thinking about it and instead work on cleaning himself.

    And it took a lot of work. Several dunkings, lots of vigorous massaging of soap into his scalp, and abrading his skin with the roughest sea sponge imported by Venissar traders.

    Finally he stood, water sluicing off his soft body, his skin an angry red from the vigorous cleaning.

    The second bath would be in the guest suite across the hall from his own, awaiting him.

    But instead Harald stepped out of the bath and took up a towel. Normally he immediately enveloped himself in his silken bathrobe, not liking to see himself naked, but this time he simply stood on the bathmat and toweled himself dry.

    Slowly.

    Thoughtfully.

    What was happening to him?

    Did Vorakhar¡¯s Insatiable Void preclude enjoying baths? You are the aching heart of ambition, the howling hunger that yearns to consume the world.

    Can¡¯t consume the world from inside a bath, can you?

    Sighing, he tossed his towel aside and took up another, with which he set to drying his hair. Only to stop, frown, and drop the towel. He pinched a lock of his flaxen hair and brought it before his face.

    His frown deepened.

    Wrapping a third towel around his waist, he strode from his suite and across the hall into the guest one.

    ¡°I¡¯ve heated fresh water,¡± Sam called from below. ¡°Shall I pour it into the second bath?¡±

    ¡°No need,¡± he called.

    The copper tub sat in the center of the room, but Harald ignored it to move instead to a tall object hidden beneath a sheet against the wall.

    With one tug he pulled the sheet away, and revealed the standing mirror.

    Six feet tall, its surface corroded but still true, he¡¯d had it covered, like all the others, a year or so after his father had died.

    But now he stood before it, glowering at himself.

    With a tug he pulled his towel off and tossed it aside.

    When was the last time he¡¯d gazed upon his own body so frankly?

    He¡¯d always hated how soft he was. How curvy. His sloping, freckled shoulders. His drooping chest. His belly. He was tall, yes, and had his father¡¯s broad frame, but it was as if pillows had been strapped to the armature instead of armor.

    Harald refused to look away.

    He¡¯d trained for three months as a condition to spending the last of his scales on outfitting a crew. It had been a requirement he¡¯d set himself, to raise his Strength and Constitution to 7, which was still far below what an average strong adult could boast. 10 was standard, with someone like Yeoric no doubt boasting a 14.

    But this was him now.

    Strength 6, Constitution 5.

    Just barely better than a child or elderly person.

    Harald felt his eyes sting.

    It almost hurt to stare at himself. All his life he¡¯d avoided doing so, because it brought back his father¡¯s words, that endless litany of mockery and disdain: you¡¯re softer than a fancy dessert, boy. Where¡¯d your muscles go? You¡¯d think you¡¯d be stronger for all the time you spend lifting spoons and forks. Should we buy you a bra? Don¡¯t snivel, it makes you look even weaker. Get up! Get up, or I¡¯ll really give you something to cry about. And where¡¯d you get that face? You look like a horse stepped on your mug when you were a babe. Go on, turn red. Run away. That¡¯s right. Hiding in your room will make everything better.

    Harald was breathing hard.

    Only now could he admit that his goal of hitting 7¡¯s had been insufficient. He was weak. He couldn¡¯t run more than a handful of blocks without losing his breath. He had all the hand-to-eye coordination of a drunk.

    But it wasn¡¯t his body¡¯s fault.

    He pinched the fat around his waist. His body hadn¡¯t asked him to shovel desserts into his stomach. Hadn¡¯t asked him to lie around all day reading and dreaming. Hadn¡¯t hidden from the sun. Hadn¡¯t avoided exertion, exercise, anything that might draw his father¡¯s ridicule.

    His body had just done what he¡¯d bidden it.

    It wasn¡¯t his body¡¯s fault he looked like this.

    It was his own.

    Harald passed his hand over his round cheek, then opened his mouth to reveal his snaggly front teeth.

    For a moment he stood thus, grimacing at himself, and then his features went slack. Only wealth had kept people from laughing to his face. Only his father¡¯s reputation had accorded him the attention and respect he¡¯d been given.

    Harald stared himself straight in the eyes and made himself say the next part: because he¡¯d done nothing to earn that respect himself.

    The thousand excuses came clamoring as always to the fore: His mother had died badly when he was young, his father had been a brute and a bully, he¡¯d never gone to the academies where he could have made friends, he was born ugly, he was delicate, he was sensitive, he preferred reading to exercise and training, it was a cruel world, a stupid world, he didn¡¯t want any part in it, nobody understood him, nobody could understand him -

    ¡°No.¡±

    He forced the word out, though it was the hardest thing he¡¯d ever done. ¡°Shut up.¡±

    Harald wanted nothing more than to tear his gaze away from his own stupid bovine brown eyes.

    But he kept his gaze locked.

    ¡°Excuses.¡± His face was turning an alarming shade of red. ¡°That¡¯s all that is. Excuses.¡±

    His heart was hammering. His chest rising and falling, his breath tight. Again his mind rebelled, poured forth the defenses he¡¯d fed himself over all his years, the same lines he¡¯d shared with Vic and the crew over countless drinks as they commiserated.

    ¡°No.¡± He stepped in and got real close to his reflection, only an inch separating himself from his own eyes. ¡°Enough. Enough!¡±

    He clenched his eyes tightly closed, and for a moment just stood there, suspended in the void of his own horror and denial and bitter victimhood.

    Then with a gasp he opened his eyes again and rested his brow against the glass. His mind was spinning, but a thought came through, irrefutable and clear: sure, he¡¯d had a tough time of it. But so did everyone else. He¡¯d suffered some hard losses. Suffered abuse. But so had everyone else. And some people actually had genuine reasons why they couldn¡¯t achieve their dreams. Sam¡ªhe wanted to laugh as the thought came to him¡ªeven Sam had lost her father when she was just five, the old butler dying mysteriously late one night while everyone was asleep. Sam had awoken all alone in the world to learn that her father¡¯s oath contract had passed on to her, and that her fate was now bound to the Darrowdelves regardless of her desires.

    But had she hidden behind a wall of excuses and complaints?

    ¡°No more.¡± This was but a whisper. ¡°Enough with the excuses. Enough.¡±

    With a deep breath he pushed off the mirror, stepped back, and stared at himself anew. His body. His face. His own self.

    And, to his surprise, he felt liberated in no longer hiding. Felt fierce and resolved, brutal and callously hard. This was him. This was the culmination of how he¡¯d lived his life thus far.

    But it didn¡¯t have to stay that way.

    His gaze roved over his frame then came to stop at his shoulder-length hair. He¡¯d always taken pride in it, how flaxen and fair it was, a reminder of what he¡¯d inherited from his mother. She¡¯d loved his locks when he was a child, had praised them and run her fingers through their length.

    He¡¯d kept them for her, but also because he felt like they offset his otherwise unfortunate features. A fine feather in a muddy cap.

    But now he found himself frowning. He took a fistful and rubbed it between his fingers. Remembered how it had gotten in his face as he¡¯d run through Flutic, how it had gotten in his eyes while fighting the rats.

    It didn¡¯t make him look good. Evernessa had lied that one time she¡¯d called his hairstyle ¡®refined and dashing¡¯. It just made him look like a fop.

    ¡°Sam?¡± His voice was startlingly loud as he took up his towel.

    She must have been waiting outside the door, for she opened it, a steaming bucket in hand. ¡°Ready for¡ªoh. Sir?¡±

    Harald finished wrapping the towel around his gut. ¡°Please fetch a comb and pair of scissors.¡±

    ¡°Scissors, sir?¡± She looked bewildered. He always wore his robe. ¡°You¡ªis it time for a trim?¡±

    He smiled without humor. ¡°Something like that. I¡¯ll await you here.¡±

    ¡°I¡ªyes, sir.¡± She set the bucket down and fairly ran from the room.

    Harald brought an upholstered chair over and set it before the mirror. When Sam returned he was seated in it and staring at his reflection.

    Sam moved up behind him, scissors and comb in hand. ¡°An inch off the bottom?¡±

    ¡°No, Sam.¡± He kept his voice soft and steady so that she couldn¡¯t doubt him. ¡°I want it all off.¡±

    Her eyes widened again in shock. ¡°All of it, Harald?¡±

    ¡°All if it. Get as close to the scalp as you can.¡±

    ¡°I¡­¡± She ran her comb through his hair, the sensation of the comb¡¯s teeth on his scalp pleasant. ¡°Are you¡­?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll explain everything soon. Please, Sam. Cut it all off.¡±

    Her eyes almost pleaded with him, which caught him off guard, until he understood why: he and the manor house were the entirety of her life. She only left the grounds when on an errand for him. This was her world, and he was breaking the cardinal rules so abruptly that it must feel like the manor walls were tumbling in.

    ¡°It¡¯s all right, Sam.¡± He twisted about with difficulty to meet her eyes directly. ¡°I promise I¡¯ve not gone mad. Or, if I have, it¡¯s the kind that¡¯s long overdue. Can you trust me?¡±

    Her eyes remained wide and glazed over. He¡¯d never spoken to her like this. Harald studied her. He¡¯d never spoken to her as¡­ a person? He felt disgusted with himself. He¡¯d do better, moving forward.

    ¡°Yes, sir,¡± said Sam, giving a jerky nod.

    ¡°Good.¡± He turned back and studied his round, freckled face. ¡°Then let¡¯s get it done.¡±

    She combed his locks out. Was she being extra gentle? Soon his blonde hair hung straight down to his shoulders.

    Slowly, hesitantly, she raised the gleaming silver scissors. Opened them and slid a blade under his hair, high and flush against his scalp.

    Sam was staring at him, terrified.

    Harald held her gaze, then gave the slightest of nods.

    And with a sudden snip, she cut off his lock.

 Chapter 7

    Harald awoke, confused.

    For a moment it was all he could do to stare at the sunlight flooding through the windows. What day was it? What had happened?

    He sat up, and felt something profoundly wrong. His hand went to his head, and there felt only a bristly fuzz.

    That¡¯s when it all hit him, everything that had transpired, and as if to confirm it, he summoned his window and stared again at the changes.

    Soul Nature: Insatiable Void

    Soul Rank: Divine

    Soul Ability: Condemnation of Success

    ¡°Fuck,¡± he whispered. But how had he gotten into bed? He remembered Sam cutting his hair, the pace of her snipping picking up speed as she¡¯d bent to the task. He¡¯d grown woozy, and when she was done he¡¯d had said something about dinner, but had nearly fallen out of the chair.

    She must have levered him into bed.

    But now he felt ravenous and better, alive and ready for¡ªwhat?

    He got out of bed and threw open his wardrobe. Knocked aside his hanging fineries until he found his training gear from two months back. In short order he was dressed in a linen shirt, drawstring pants, thick socks, and a pair of supple leather running shoes.

    Simple, plain, functional.

    Emerging from his suite, he cocked his head and listened, half expecting to hear sounds of Vic and the others somewhere in the manor.

    Silence.

    No, some subtle sounds from below, coming from the kitchen.

    Harald¡¯s stomach cramped.

    He¡¯d never gone this long without eating before in his life.

    Salivating, he hurried downstairs.

    Sam had anticipated his starvation and was cooking up his favorites. Rashers of bacon, scrambled eggs, a freshly baked loaf of cornbread, a steaming carafe of coffee, along with small dishes of yogurt, berries, and oatmeal covered in stewed apples.

    Harald¡¯s mouth flooded and he almost groaned, his knees going weak at the smell.

    ¡°Oh!¡± Sam must have heard him, because she set the frying pan down and turned to smile. ¡°You¡¯re finally up. I was going to get this ready and then wake you. Eleventh Bell just rang.¡±

    ¡°Food,¡± moaned Harald, moving to sit at the broad kitchen table. ¡°Please. I¡¯m dying.¡±

    ¡°I set the formal¡­?¡± Sam blinked. That¡¯s right, Harald realized, he never ate in the kitchen. But then she shrugged and set to serving him. Soon she placed a giant plate laden with delicious food before him, a mug of coffee to go with it all, and stepped back, hands behind her back.

    Harald took up the silverware and was about to dig in when he glanced up at her.

    ¡°Did I forget something?¡± she asked.

    ¡°I¡­ no. Just¡­ sit?¡±

    ¡°Excuse me, sir?¡±

    He gestured with his knife to one of the sturdy wooden chairs. ¡°Sit. Actually, have you eaten?¡±

    ¡°I had my porridge when I woke up, earlier.¡± She sounded alarmed. ¡°Harald? Please. I can¡¯t wait any longer. It¡¯s been killing me, I could barely sleep. What happened to you? You¡¯ve¡­ I barely recognize you.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s me all right.¡± He grinned and bit into a chunk of cornbread. ¡°But I won¡¯t say a word if you don¡¯t sit. And grab some coffee or food or whatever while you¡¯re at it.¡± She wouldn¡¯t, he knew, so he raised an eyebrow. ¡°I command you to eat if you¡¯re hungry.¡±

    ¡°I¡­¡± She¡¯d gone pale, but then snatched up a plate, spooned some oatmeal and berries onto it, and sat.

    ¡°Well.¡± He washed the cornbread down with coffee, then set to devouring everything before him even as he spoke. ¡°It¡¯s¡­ it¡¯s a long story.¡±

    ¡°Sure,¡± allowed Sam, voice wondering. ¡°I can only imagine.¡±

    For a short while he just focused on munching bacon and eggs and getting as much food inside him as possible, but he knew he was just delaying. Finally he paused, stared down at his plate, and grimaced. ¡°I was a fool, Sam.¡±

    She was kind enough to stay quiet.

    ¡°Yeoric and the others had no intentions of going below with me into the dungeon. When I showed up they made that clear.¡± He recalled Yeoric punching him in the gut. ¡°Very clear.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Sam¡¯s outrage was heartening and heart breaking all at once. ¡°But we spent an inordinate amount of scales¡­?¡±

    ¡°I know.¡± He wiped runny yolk up with a piece of cornbread, but his appetite was rapidly fading. ¡°And¡­¡± He took a deep breath. Held it, fought the urge to speak the truth, then sighed. ¡°They were right.¡±

    ¡°Right?¡± Now her outrage was directed at him. ¡°How so? You¡¯re Harald Darrowdelve, son of one of the greatest recent success stories, and you literally paid for their gear, for Master Derrick to Awaken his Cosmos -¡±

    ¡°They were right because I had no business going down into that dungeon.¡± There. He¡¯d said it. ¡°My physical statistics are abysmal. I don¡¯t know how to wield a sword. My Soul Ability was only of marginal utility.¡±

    Sam went to complain, then caught herself. Frowned. ¡°Was?¡±

    Oh, she was very, very quick.

    ¡°Well, after they left¡­¡± Harald caught himself. He wanted to glide over the details, but there was a crucial aspect he had to mention. ¡°After they left with my pouch of scales¡­¡±

    Sam¡¯s face went white. ¡°They took your scales?¡±

    Shame caused Harald¡¯s cheeks to burn. He stared down at his plate.

    ¡°But¡­ sir.¡± Her voice was somewhere between a horrified whisper and a croak. ¡°That was all our remaining wealth. All of it.¡±

    ¡°I know.¡±

    ¡°The remnants of the loan you took against the manor¡¯s equity. The last scales we had in the safe.¡±

    Harald pursed his lips and forced himself to look up and meet her wide-eyed stare. ¡°I know.¡±

    ¡°They stole it? Just¡­ took it?¡± Now her horror was becoming fury. ¡°The¡­ the bastards!¡±

    He¡¯d never heard her swear before. Guess today was a first for everyone.

    ¡°Yes. They were right to not take me below, but that doesn¡¯t change the rest of it. They¡¯re thieves. I should have known better. Should never have trusted Derrick. Should never have believed that they were the solution to my problems.¡±

    ¡°But¡­ sir, they were!¡± Sam sat up straight. ¡°You wanted nothing more than to live up to your father¡¯s expectations. To earn scales. To set our situation to rights.¡±

    By the angels, it hurt to hear her say those words. He wanted to just agree with her. To accept her depiction of him as a dutiful son looking to make good. A noble underdog seeking to defy the creditors and naysayers.

    ¡°Sam.¡± His voice shook with emotion. ¡°There¡¯s more.¡±

    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

    She slumped, concerned, then shoved a spoonful of oatmeal into her mouth and set to chewing nervously.

    So he told her. About his visit to Ustim. His joining the Humble Petitioner¡¯s line. How he¡¯d entered the dungeon alone that night.

    Her eyes widened comically as she leaned forward. ¡°Harald, you went into the dungeon? By yourself? To the first floor?!¡±

    He nodded grimly.

    ¡°But¡­ you don¡¯t know how to use a sword! You¡­ you know that greenhorns should never go in alone, you were exhausted, beaten up, dehydrated¡­ and¡­?¡±

    Harald took another deep breath. ¡°Look, Sam. I didn¡¯t know it at the time, but when I went in there¡­ I knew it was a bad idea, but I didn¡¯t care. I¡¯m not sure if I just deceived myself into thinking I¡¯d still win through, that I was some kind of charmed hero that would defy the odds, or¡­¡±

    He trailed off.

    Sam¡¯s eyes widened again, a fresh understanding bursting upon her, and then she reached out to place her hand over his own. ¡°You¡­ you didn¡¯t expect to come back?¡±

    Harald took a shuddering breath. This was so hard. Like plunging your hand into a fire. So hard to just say the simple truth. How much easier would it be to deflect, to laugh, to hide?

    To run away from this discomfort, this pain?

    His eyes prickled with emotion, emotion summoned as much by Sam¡¯s concern as his own burgeoning understanding of what he¡¯d done and why. ¡°Look, I didn¡¯t realize it at the time. I¡¯m figuring it out now even as I¡¯m telling you this. But I went in, and I found a nest of dire rats, and¡­ and they tore me apart.¡±

    Sam sat back, brows furrowed. ¡°They did? But¡­ you¡¯re unhurt.¡±

    ¡°They tore open the side of my neck.¡± He touched where the wound had been. ¡°All that blood? It was mine. I almost died. But then¡­ someone came.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡± Her shoulders sagged in relief. ¡°And they had a healing potion? Let you absorb some scales?¡± She shook her head, concern giving way to amazement. ¡°Harald, you have a demon¡¯s own luck!¡±

    ¡°It wasn¡¯t another raider.¡±

    She blinked rapidly. ¡°No? Then¡­?¡±

    Harald blew out his cheeks, glanced away, tried to think of a nonchalant way to just say it. But the words just wouldn¡¯t come.

    ¡°Harald?¡± She canted her head to one side so as to try and meet his gaze. ¡°Who was it?¡±

    ¡°It was¡­¡± A knot formed in his throat. Why was it so hard to say? Had the demon cursed him? So instead he simply put his hand to his chest.

    Sam frowned at the gesture, but then her expression cycled quickly through amazement to renewed horror. ¡°Your father¡¯s amulet. You¡¯re saying¡­?¡±

    ¡°Vorakhar came to claim it. He¡ªor it¡ªis still alive. I think¡­ maybe because it got soaked in my blood? His presence drove the rats away. But I was dying, and he recognized me as my father¡¯s son, and said some strange things. He said something about my not having lived up to my potential, how I could have been even greater than my father¡­¡±

    Sam was nodding firmly in agreement, which caused Harald to feel a new burst of affection.

    ¡°He said he¡¯d give me a new chance. That there was room for amusement, and that he¡¯d give me what I¡¯d been missing. Then he touched my brow and I passed out. And when I awoke, well. My window had changed.¡±

    ¡°Changed?¡±

    ¡°Here, I¡¯ll just show you.¡±

    And Harald activated his window, then set it to public so that the words appeared in the air between the pair of them.

    Doing so was an act of trust, of intimacy. He¡¯d never shown Sam his window before, but she knew well enough from his drunken ramblings what it contained. Now she read it, muttering the words, then sat back and covered her mouth with her hand.

    ¡°Yeah.¡± He dismissed the text. ¡°When I awoke I was healed and in the tunnel. I returned to Flutic and made my way home. But ever since waking up, I¡¯ve been¡­ I don¡¯t know how to put it.¡±

    ¡°Completely changed,¡± whispered Sam. ¡°But¡­ not.¡±

    ¡°Right.¡± He laughed uneasily. ¡°I feel like myself. But¡­ but a version of myself that can see through my own lies. My own¡­ fears. The illusions I built around myself.¡± He raised his hand to his shorn hair. ¡°And¡­ Sam. It¡¯s as if I¡¯m seeing my life for the very first time. And I don¡¯t like what I¡¯m seeing.¡±

    Sam had been simply staring at him, shocked, but this roused her. ¡°Sir, you¡¯ve done your best. Your father -¡±

    ¡°No, Sam.¡± He raised a hand to cut her off. ¡°I¡¯m done with excuses. My father¡¯s been dead four years now. I¡¯ve been blaming him for everything ever since. For how much longer would I pin my failures on him? I¡¯m done. Done with blaming the world. Mother¡¯s death, my lack of¡­ well. Everything I wanted. I¡¯m done, Sam. This is my life. I think¡­ I think I just need to take ownership of it. All of it.¡±

    Sam¡¯s expression crumpled into sympathy and affection. ¡°Oh, Harald.¡± She reached out and touched his hand again. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ that¡¯s an amazing thing to say.¡±

    ¡°It might have been, if I¡¯d said it at father¡¯s funeral. Now?¡± His smile was bitter. ¡°It¡¯s just overdue.¡±

    ¡°And that¡¯s why you ordered Vic and the others to leave?¡±

    He nodded.

    ¡°And your hair?¡±

    ¡°Things have to change. I have to change.¡±

    ¡°You already have, Harald.¡±

    ¡°No, not yet. I¡¯ve only just begun. But¡­¡± He tried to find the right words. ¡°I feel¡­ I still feel numb. Lost. Like a man trying to find his way out of the mists. I don¡¯t see everything yet. Just what¡¯s right in front of me. Like having you sit with me to eat. Or being honest with you. I still have so much to figure out.¡±

    Sam nodded slowly, parsing his words. ¡°It¡¯s a lot. What you¡¯ve already done. I¡¯ve¡­ you¡¯ll excuse my boldness, but I¡¯ve¡­¡±

    ¡°No, go ahead.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve never approved of Vic¡¯s influence on you. On¡­¡± She waved her hand, as if trying to summarize the entirety of their relationship.

    ¡°I know.¡± Harald¡¯s voice grew soft. ¡°But I don¡¯t hate him. Far from it. He was a friend when I needed one. A bad friend, don¡¯t get me wrong, but a friend nonetheless. Without him, I don¡¯t even know.¡± He bit his lower lip as dangerous, dark memories resurfaced. ¡°But I¡¯m done with sponsoring everybody¡¯s nights. I¡¯m done with the drinking and¡ªand the whoring and¡ª all of it.¡± Again he looked down, cheeks burning. ¡°I¡¯ve wasted too many years chasing the approval of people whose opinion shouldn¡¯t matter to me. And¡­ and I was doing it in a way that guaranteed I¡¯d never earn it. So I¡¯m done.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m glad to hear it.¡± Sam smiled. ¡°Partially because, with your scales stolen, we can¡¯t afford that lifestyle.¡±

    Harald winced. ¡°We¡¯re truly cleared out?¡±

    Sam hesitated.

    ¡°Yes?¡± he prompted.

    ¡°I have my savings. It¡¯s not much, though.¡±

    ¡°No. Absolutely not.¡± Harald glared at her. ¡°And don¡¯t you ever suggest that again.¡±

    But she ignored his command. ¡°It¡¯s not much, but enough to keep us buying food, to perhaps make the next payment on our debts.¡±

    Harald had loathed this kind of conversation. Before, it would have driven him from the table, furious and despairing, feeling judged and found wanting. But he grit his teeth and forced himself to ask the question he¡¯d always avoided. To learn the answer he¡¯d lived in dread of. ¡°Sam. How much do we owe?¡±

    ¡°I¡­¡±

    ¡°Just¡­ just tell me. How much?¡±

    Her voice grew hushed. ¡°All told? Including loans from Ustim Flowervault, the house loans, and other assorted debts? Five Twilight Infinitums, six Horizon¡¯s Whispers, three Zenith Tides, and assorted smaller scales.¡±

    Harald closed his eyes.

    He knew his scales, had always had a facility with numbers.

    That added up to 5,630,000 Copper Moons.

    ¡°Most of that came from the house loans,¡± said Sam apologetically. ¡°But we already owed a Twilight Spiral before it.¡±

    ¡°I see.¡± It was hard to breathe. ¡°And¡­ how much are the interest payments?¡±

    ¡°There are different interest rates, but¡­ again, all told, about two Horizon¡¯s Whispers per month.¡±

    Harald felt his heart lurch in his chest. ¡°Two Whispers?!¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s why our loan has ballooned,¡± said Sam apologetically. ¡°I¡¯ve had to take loans out to make the payments. The entirety of the third house loan has been used in paying off the interest payments alone. Do you recall? I tried to explain it to you, but you told me you didn¡¯t want to hear it, and just signed the papers?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡± Harald¡¯s shoulders slumped. He stared grimly at his plate of food. ¡°You know how much I made on my first dungeon raid?¡±

    Sam leaned forward, eager. ¡°How much?¡±

    Harald chuckled. ¡°A single Copper Moon.¡±

    ¡°A single¡­¡± She blinked then slumped back. ¡°Oh.¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡± For some reason he found this hilarious. ¡°So if I can just go back two hundred thousand times before the next interest payment is due¡­¡±

    Sam just stared down at her hands.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± said Harald softly, and his humor burned away. ¡°Sorry. Not funny.¡±

    ¡°I¡­¡± Her voice sounded heartbroken. ¡°I¡¯ve truly done all I can to keep us afloat. I¡¯ve thought of everything I could, I¡¯ve negotiated the loans, refinanced them with different guilds to find lower interest rates, but our credit is all used up. Nobody will return my letters. Nobody will take my appointments. It¡¯s¡­ it¡¯s why I thought perhaps Yeoric and the others might actually be a solution.¡± She looked up, eyes glimmering with tears. ¡°Because there are literally no other options. None. Well.¡±

    Harald fought to keep the despair at bay. ¡°What is it?¡±

    ¡°There is one asset left to you worth a decent amount of scales.¡± Her voice grew very small. ¡°You could sell my oath for -¡±

    Harald leaped from the table as if scalded. ¡°Enough!¡±

    She stood, eyes blazing. ¡°It¡¯s true! My oath is worth at least a Horizon¡¯s Whisper, especially if I agree to extend it for, say, a decade beyond my eighteenth birthday. I -¡±

    ¡°Enough!¡± His voice crashed over her words like a tidal wave of such fury that her mouth snapped shut. Eyes wide, face pale, she stared at him, fingers to her lips.

    ¡°I¡­¡± Harald fought to catch his breath, kept searching the kitchen for something, an answer, a solution. He found none. ¡°I forbid you from mentioning that again. Do you hear me? Never. Ever. Mention selling your oath. The idea is beyond repulsive. It¡­¡± He felt horror and revulsion at the very prospect, and then, suddenly, everything around him stilled.

    The world.

    Flutic.

    The manor house.

    His heart.

    ¡°Harald?¡± Sam¡¯s voice was a broken whisper. ¡°What is it? Why are you looking at me like that?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s something that I should have done long ago.¡± He heard a rushing roar in his ears, and felt so strange, as if he were hovering above his body, gazing down upon the pair of them and the kitchen from on high. ¡°I, Harald Darrowdelve, Master of Darrowdelve Manor, do in full knowledge of all debts and accords -¡±

    ¡°Harald!¡± Sam¡¯s cry was startled, shocked, panicked. She ran forward and grabbed him by his shirt, shook him. ¡°Stop! What are you doing? Stop this -¡±

    ¡°- do hereby formally and forever absolve Samantha Tuppins of her oath to my family, and do this of my own free will, without compunction or compulsion.¡±

    Samantha was staring up into his face, her having turned mottled red and white, her mouth working, tears brimming, her grip growing weak.

    A knot of burning light appeared between them, her magic oath, bequeathed upon her by her father¡¯s death. It was complex synergy of burning green lines, all of it forming an intricate rune, with one line extending to Harald¡¯s chest, another to her heart.

    Unable to breathe, smiling the most honest smile of his life, Harald reached up and took hold of the Soul Line, the linchpin to the rune, and pulled it free.

    The magical oath broke apart into glittering fragments.

    ¡°There,¡± he said, and placed his hands over her own, pressing them to his chest. ¡°There, Sam. You¡¯re free. I only wish I¡¯d done this long, long ago.¡±

 Chapter 8

    Sam stared up at him, eyes glimmering with tears, her expression open, vulnerable, raw, devastated.

    Then she tore her hands free and fled the kitchen with a cry.

    ¡°Sam!¡± Harald lurched after her then stopped in the doorway. A moment later he heard her bedroom door slam shut.

    ¡°Damn,¡± he whispered. Had that been a mistake? No, it felt right, it had been so obvious, so overdue. But¡­ Harald hung his head, then ground the base of his palm into his eye. Maybe he could have handled that a bit more adroitly.

    His shoulders sagged and he returned to the kitchen table. Half the meal remained on his plate. Sam had barely touched her oatmeal. On the range the pans and pots sat, greasy and half-filled with food.

    His appetite was fled.

    Harald refilled his coffee and wandered out of the kitchen, through the back hallway, and let himself out onto the patio. It was a fresh, beautiful morning. The garden spread out before him, unruly and wild.

    Lips pursed, he ambled down the stone steps onto the lawn, and crossed to the arbor set before the ornamental pond. A swinging bench hung beneath the ivy-wreathed rafters, and there he sat to stare at the emerald pond.

    It had once featured jewel-like fish imported from Mithlorniel. Now it was impossible to tell if anything at all lived under the algae-smothered surface.

    Harald sipped his coffee and turned to regard Darrowdelve Manor. It was an impressive building. Two storied and with a great history. His father had bought it from House Blanock, who¡¯d purchased it in turn, supposedly, from the last king of Flutic two centuries ago.

    As a kid Harald had loved wandering its halls and rooms, wondering what might have taken place there in the centuries gone by. Mickle the gardener had once told him the home had been used by the king to house his favorite mistresses. There was a legend that the attic was haunted by one of them, a beautiful half-elf princess who¡¯d hung herself after finding out she was to be sent back home to Mithlorniel in disgrace.

    Harald smiled wryly. One night when he was seven he¡¯d crept up into the attic, hoping and fearing that he¡¯d see the ghost. He¡¯d sat amidst the crates all night, watching in fevered anticipation, but nothing had disturbed the velvety darkness. Of course not. No half-elf could ever be a princess. If only he¡¯d known that the story itself didn¡¯t make sense.

    And now?

    Harald sighed. The amount of debt laid against the manor was crippling. It was a miracle that Sam had kept the place running and out of the hands of debtors this long.

    What was he going to do?

    For awhile he simply rocked back and forth, enjoying the coffee, his spirit calm, his mind unfocused. He could sense deep, powerful thoughts shifting in his core. Emotions he couldn¡¯t even quite register.

    Re-alignments.

    The Twelfth Bell rang, the peals scattered across the city by the countless chapels and churches to the Fallen Angel, and to his surprise tears sprang to his eyes as the last peal fell quiet.

    The answer was obvious.

    But it would be the greatest change yet.

    Suddenly he was heaving for breath, his chest tight, and his attempt to set his mug of coffee aside resulted in it rolling off the bench to shatter upon the floor.

    He couldn¡¯t get enough air. Chest heaving, he rose, staggered, then dropped to one knee. Again and again he panted, fingers digging into his chest, and then tears brimmed and ran down his cheeks.

    One obvious answer.

    So simple.

    So painfully clear.

    And yet. Accepting that meant undoing so much. Releasing such an essential part of himself.

    But what choice did he have? He stared through his tears at the old house.

    What was that place to him?

    His home. His family home. The building in which his mother had died. In which he¡¯d been reared. A morass of dark and bright memories, all intertwined. The home in which his father had ruled. A source of misery and pride.

    Darrowdelve Manor.

    How many times had he sworn to save it, to raise it back to societal prominence, to make his father proud?

    How many drunken oaths, each affirmed with such searing intention? He¡¯d promised Vic, the others, anybody who could hear that he¡¯d make enough scales to bring back the whole staff, to re-hire the gardeners, a butler, maids, cooks, grooms, manservants, even revitalize the old scale-coach. To replace the cracked windows, to have the ballroom parquet floor redone, to fix the leaks in the ancient roof, to restore the flowing water to the second floor, to bring everything to a glittering polish and then host such balls as Flutic hadn¡¯t seen in over a century.

    That was the home he¡¯d lived in all these years. The home that he would turn this building into. He¡¯d always stared past the weeds and cracked masonry, the buckled flagstones and dusty corners, had refused to acknowledge the closed wings and the sheet-covered furniture.

    In his heart, in his mind, he¡¯d insisted on believing that the future manor was the present. That if he yearned for it enough, if he insisted that it would become true, why, then in a sense it already had.

    A bright and beautiful home, filled with laughter and friends, where he¡¯d one day bring home a bride and have children.

    That last twisted another knife in his heart.

    It was his deepest, most hidden wish.

    To make this place the wonderland it had once been for him, while his mother had lived. To hear childish laughter ring out in the halls, to host parties and -

    Harald hung his head.

    For a single moment that shining mirage remained in his mind¡¯s eye, a golden vision, the pinnacle of his ambition.

    The words he¡¯d speak when he realized that goal, memorized but never spoken out loud. He¡¯d sworn to never utter them out loud till he could do so with full confidence, but what was breaking another foolish vow compared to all he¡¯d already done?

    Harald raised his face and wiped the tears away. Stared at the dilapidated old building and smiled bleakly. ¡°See, Father? I did it. Darrowdelve Manor is restored, and now all is as it should be. I hope you¡¯re proud.¡±

    The wind blew through the trees, and somewhere in the distance he could hear the raucous calling of crows.

    ¡°Ah well.¡± Harald rose unsteadily to his feet. He felt hollowed out, a reed. He passed his hand over his shorn head.

    He had to tell Sam.

    First he gathered the broken shards of his mug. These he threw in the trash in the kitchen, and then, awkwardly, barely knowing what to do, he set about cleaning away breakfast.

    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

    Why was he so tired? His hamstrings ached, his eyelids hung heavy. All he¡¯d done yesterday was walk and jog.

    But he moved with purpose. Giving Sam as much time as he could. He scrubbed pots for the first time in his life, and found it ridiculously challenging to abrade away the splotches. What did one do with leftover food? In the end he put everything in a large bowl, covered it with a hand towel, and placed it in the icebox. He wiped the kitchen table down with a wet cloth, then swept the floor ineptly with a broom he found hidden behind a narrow door he¡¯d never noticed before.

    It took forever.

    But when he was done, he straightened, wiped at his brow, and realized that Sam had been watching him from the shadowed hallway.

    ¡°Hey.¡± He smiled. ¡°This cleaning business is hard work!¡±

    She didn¡¯t smile.

    He propped the broom against the counter and took a deep breath. ¡°Sam, I owe you an apology. That was reckless of me. I should have asked you, warned you. But it felt so right, so¡­ I don¡¯t know. I suddenly just had to. But it was thoughtless of me to just¡­ do it, like that. I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    He¡¯d half-expected her to appear in travel clothing with a suitcase. But she was dressed as before, a handkerchief in hand. Her eyes were red, her face blotchy, but her expression was determined.

    ¡°Harald.¡± She stepped out of the shadows into the doorway. ¡°I don¡¯t know what¡¯s happening. Everything is changing so quickly.¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡± He pulled out a chair, too tired to stand, and dropped into it. ¡°A whole lot of bills are coming due.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m free.¡± She said this as if tasting the words. ¡°I¡¯m no longer oathbound to you or your family.¡±

    ¡°Right.¡± He tried for a smile, just barely managed. ¡°You can do whatever you like, now. Though I guess the city watch might want a word if you get too wild.¡±

    Still she didn¡¯t smile. Instead she took another step forward. ¡°But you¡¯ve nothing. No scales. No friends. Why did you get rid of me?¡±

    ¡°Get rid of you?¡± He reared back. ¡°I didn¡¯t ¡®get rid of you¡¯. Sam, you¡¯re¡­ I don¡¯t even know.¡± He wrestled with the emotion, the depth of feeling. ¡°You¡¯re like family. We grew up together. You¡¯ve always been there for me. I gave you your freedom because you should never have been bound. But I¡¯m not ¡®getting rid of you¡¯.¡±

    Her eyes widened. ¡°So you don¡¯t want me to leave?¡±

    ¡°No!¡± He laughed, ran his hand over his hair. ¡°But if you stay, that¡¯s your choice. You can do what you like. You¡¯re your own person, now.¡±

    She bit her lower lip. ¡°Harald. You¡¯re in so much trouble.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know about that.¡± He considered her. ¡°The old Harald would have agreed with you. But I¡¯m starting to see things differently.¡±

    Sam drifted to a chair and sat. ¡°How so?¡±

    ¡°The person I used to be, was, even, just a couple of days ago. He was¡­ drowning. Suffocated. By his sense of duty, his weakness, his dreams. But since Vorakhar touched me, I¡¯ve been seeing through all the illusions. And I can see now the way things have been going for a long while. I may have tried to deny it before, but you can¡¯t deny reality forever. So I¡¯ve made a decision.¡±

    ¡°Another one?¡± Sam let out a startled laugh. ¡°I don¡¯t know how many more revelations I can take.¡±

    ¡°Sam.¡± He leaned forward and placed his hand on hers. ¡°We owe five Twilight Infinitums. There¡¯s no paying that back.¡±

    Her voice dropped to a whisper. ¡°What are you saying?¡±

    ¡°What I¡¯m saying is that I¡¯m going to let them take Darrowdelve Manor.¡±

    Her eyes widened as she snatched her hand back. ¡°You¡¯re what?¡±

    ¡°What choice do I have? You said it yourself. Nobody is meeting with you, answering your letters. I lost our last scales to Yeoric and his band. There¡¯s no way I¡¯ll be able to recover that many scales before the next interest payment is due, and I categorically refuse to use your savings.¡±

    ¡°But¡­ this is our home.¡±

    ¡°I know.¡± Harald sighed. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I wish I¡¯d been a better person. A better lord of this place. But I wasn¡¯t. I frittered away my years dreaming and drinking. You¡¯re the one that kept this place going as long as it¡¯s lasted, but you¡¯re free now of that obligation. And¡­ I don¡¯t know.¡±

    ¡°What, Harald?¡±

    He blew out his cheeks. ¡°Part of me just wants to let go of all this. My father¡¯s ghost, the weight of obligation, the life of stress and privilege. Darrowdelve Manor isn¡¯t a home. It¡¯s¡­ it¡¯s a prison.¡±

    Her shock was clear. ¡°A prison? What are you saying?¡±

    ¡°Come with me.¡± He stood and marched out of the kitchen. Took two turns and entered the ballroom. ¡°When I have I ever used this for anything? Vic¡¯s derived more satisfaction from this room than I ever have.¡±

    Sam frowned at him.

    He led her through the parlors, the library, the sitting rooms, the formal dining room, the conservatory, the solarium. Opened door after door to rooms he¡¯d not entered in years.

    ¡°All these rooms. This whole, rambling house. It was my father¡¯s dream. And you know what?¡± He rounded on her, having returned to the grand front entrance. ¡°I was such a nobody that I simply adopted his dream instead of coming up with one of my own.¡±

    Sam simply stared at him.

    ¡°You remember my True Soul? Hero¡¯s Son. It was so damn true. Who was I? I was my father¡¯s reflection. I wanted to raid dungeons because he did. I wanted to restore this home to make him proud. I wanted to be big and strong and respected to prove him wrong. But don¡¯t you see?¡± He stepped in closer. ¡°I was always reacting to him. Everything I did, or thought I wanted, was in response to his personality, his way of living, his expectations.¡±

    Sam had raised her fingers to her lips, was listening wide-eyed.

    ¡°And¡­ I don¡¯t want it anymore. Darrowdelve Manor. That life.¡± His shoulders slumped. ¡°Maybe that¡¯s why I never amounted to anything. Why I never gave any venture my all. Why I drank and hid and lied to myself, year after year. Because deep down, on some level, I knew I wasn¡¯t living for myself. I was trying to live for him.¡±

    His words hung in the air between them. He was breathing harshly, his heart pounding, his mind afire.

    Because¡­ it was true. The Fallen Angel wept, it was true. And he¡¯d never realized it till this moment.

    ¡°But¡­ if you don¡¯t want any of that anymore¡­¡± Sam¡¯s voice was barely audible. ¡°Then what do you want?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s what I need to answer.¡± Hands on his hips, he hung his head. ¡°That¡¯s what I need to decide. What do I, Harald Darrowdelve, want? For me, for myself, not for my father, not for appearances sake, not out of a sense of obligation or pride or vanity. Not because I feel like I should want it. What do I want, here, in my heart?¡± And he pounded his chest. ¡°I think I know. I¡¯m getting a sense of it. But before I can truly answer that question, I¡¯ve had to get rid of everything that was holding me back. Vic, my hair, Darrowdelve.¡±

    Sam¡¯s eyes filled with tears.

    ¡°No! Not you!¡± He stepped forward impulsively and hugged her tight. ¡°You¡¯re the best thing in my life, Sam. My truest friend. I don¡¯t know why you¡¯ve believed in me all along.¡±

    For a moment he simply hugged her, then he stepped back and tried for a broken smile. ¡°I¡¯ll never be able to thank you enough.¡±

    She wiped at her wet cheeks. ¡°I was oathbound.¡±

    For some, that might have been enough of an explanation. And the old Harald would have immediately been affronted, have swept away shouting before he could be hurt any further. But now he just stared at her, giving her the space to speak.

    ¡°And¡­¡± She hung her head. ¡°You¡¯re right. You feel like family. A brother. Or¡­ a cousin?¡±

    ¡°A wealthy, annoying cousin,¡± he said with a smile.

    ¡°Ha, yes. Perhaps. But.¡± Again she wiped at her cheeks. ¡°I¡¯ve always known you had this¡­ this side to you. That this was your real essence. That deep down, there was a truly good person waiting for the chance to emerge.¡±

    Harald shook his head. ¡°I don¡¯t know why you thought that. I¡¯d not have changed if Vorakhar hadn¡¯t done what he did.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not true.¡± She sounded at once sad and defiant. ¡°You are a good person, Harald. I¡¯ve always seen it, even if you got lost over the years. Do you¡­ do you remember Max, your father¡¯s dire hound?¡±

    Harald frowned, thrown off. ¡°Max? From when we were kids? The one that bit my arm? He was permanently put in the war kennels down by the Dungeon Plaza after that, right?¡±

    ¡°The same.¡± Sam smiled. ¡°Do you remember why he bit you?¡±

    ¡°I was¡­Father said it was my fault. How old was I? Six? He nearly took my arm off.¡±

    ¡°My father had to send for a House Healer to ensure you didn¡¯t lose your arm, yes. Max had chased me into the stables. He¡¯d was trying to bite me, to attack me, but I climbed up onto a windowsill just outside his reach. I stood there for an hour while he leaped and barked. I was¡­ terrified.¡±

    ¡°I think¡­ yeah. You must have been, what? Five?¡± The memory was slowly coming back to him.

    ¡°Yes. I thought he was going to kill me.¡± She looked down at her hands. ¡°I¡¯m sure he would have. Your father came to see what was going on, but when he saw me on that windowsill, he just laughed, told me to figure it out, and left. But you came into the stable and saw me trapped, and you shouted at Max.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s right. I tried to distract him.¡± Harald¡¯s smile grew bitter. ¡°My father said I was the world¡¯s greatest idiot.¡±

    ¡°Max attacked you, and you screamed for me to run as he dragged you across the stable. I ran for Mickle, and he got Max off you with a stick.¡±

    Harald nodded, bemused. ¡°Yeah. I remember.¡±

    ¡°I never forgot.¡± The depths of emotion in Sam¡¯s eyes were almost overwhelming. ¡°You never hesitated. Max was big enough for you to ride, but you just ran in without hesitating. You saved my life.¡±

    ¡°Well.¡± Harald rubbed the back of his head. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ I guess I just remembered my father¡¯s fury. And then wearing a cast for a month. But, yeah.¡±

    ¡°There were other things that happened, smaller things, but those moments showed me who you really were.¡± Sam¡¯s voice had grown soft. ¡°I¡¯ve known you are a good person for as long as I can remember. And I¡¯ve had to watch as you tried your best to survive your father, the obligations laid on you, and, yes, you got lost there for awhile. But I always knew the boy who ran in to face down Max was inside you. Waiting for his chance.¡±

    A shiver ran through Harald.

    For a moment they just stood in the echoing hallway, neither speaking.

    ¡°Well,¡± he said at last. ¡°That Harald¡¯s finally emerging. But this time he¡¯s not facing down Max the dire hound. He¡¯s finally facing his own demons. Letting go of what¡¯s been holding him back.¡±

    ¡°So he can move forward?¡± asked Sam softly.

    ¡°Yeah.¡± Harald smiled, another shiver running through him. ¡°I¡¯m not sure what path I¡¯m going to walk just yet, but I¡¯d love it if you chose to walk it with me.¡±

    Tears brimmed and ran down Sam¡¯s cheeks again, causing her to laugh despairingly and wipe at them with her cuff. ¡°By the angels, I¡¯ve never cried this much in my life. Of course, Harald. Of course I¡¯ll come with you. There¡¯s nowhere else I can imagine being.¡±

 Chapter 9

    Harald draped a heavy cloak of finest wool over his shoulders and headed out into the afternoon. The cloak was of sufficient quality, dyed a charcoal gray and trimmed in cobalt blue, that he¡¯d not be bothered by the guards despite his otherwise plain training gear.

    He left Sam behind to contemplate her life as he set out to think on his.

    Change.

    He¡¯d embraced it, had made big decisions and spoken even grander words. That moment of heartfelt unity with Sam had easily been the best thing that had happened to him in the longest time¡ªif you discounted the blessings of a demon¡ªbut it left him with a singular question: now what?

    So he set off down Baldric Avenue, no destination in mind, determined to find the answer.

    For an hour or so he just walked. Stepped out onto the Eternal Circuit and followed its grand spiral tighter and tighter into the heart of the city. Lost himself in the crowds, taking comfort in the bustle and sound of Flutic, the greatest metropolis on the Known Continent.

    But despite the wonders that presented themselves, he didn¡¯t really see them. He ignored the cries of costermongers, skirted around crowds that gathered in the squares to observe performers, ignored the long dead overhead scale-carriage-line, and allowed his feet to guide them where they would.

    His thoughts were loose and inchoate. He ruminated on recent events. Derrick introducing him to Yeoric at the Burnished Goose, their firm handshake, Yeoric¡¯s measured nod. It had been the other man¡¯s reticence that had so assured Harald; Derrick¡¯s effusive promises were as nothing compared to the other warrior¡¯s solemn appraisal.

    He thought on Vic, on Evernessa and the others. The nights of debauchery, the time they were all arrested for freeing a dancing bear and leading it into the Kitty Kat Club. The wild nights, when he¡¯d felt feverish and eternal, as if he¡¯d be young forever, as if Vic¡¯s near supernatural charisma could compensate for his own lack.

    The dungeon portal, ever shifting.

    His father¡¯s portrait.

    That frisson of wonder and delight when he¡¯d taken his new blade to the orchard at the back of his estate and set to slicing falling leaves like Gustav, the warrior-king from legend.

    His astonishment when he¡¯d actually razored one in twain.

    Sam¡¯s faith. His father¡¯s disdain. Vic¡¯s endless amusement. Yeoric¡¯s cruel rejection. Lucine¡¯s tinkling laugh. Evernessa¡¯s lips at his ear.

    And in the center of it all, lost and desperately searching, Harald Darrowdelve.

    He passed his hand self-consciously over his short hair. Resolutions didn¡¯t change who he was. Actions did.

    So what came next?

    Finally he fetched up in the Academy Square. Surprised, he glanced around himself, not realizing this had been his destination all along. All around him raced students, the young scions and hopefuls of the noble houses. Dressed in the sober black and silver of the Academy uniform, they looked dashing and dangerous. Most wore blades at their hips, and all had a slash of color at the shoulder signifying their House allegiance.

    Harald found a bench and sat. Rested his elbows on his knees, and considered the Academy proper.

    Hidden behind high walls, it was an august building and an essential part of Flutic¡¯s history and success. Over four centuries old, it had trained and graduated some of the greatest legends. Barillo the Bold had come from its halls, Yvette Queencutter. The infamous Skull Harvester had studied there for a semester, along with the doomed identical twins Raveena and Gliselle who¡¯d both descended into madness and killed each other on the 53rd Level.

    The names went on, and Harald knew most of them. He¡¯d grown up on the adventure stories written for Flutic¡¯s youths that detailed the legends and their exploits. All of them members of or sponsored by the noble houses.

    His father had laughed scornfully at his request to attend.

    ¡°You? Attend the Academy? You¡¯re joking. First, you¡¯d never get accepted. Unless you were planning to apply to join the kitchen staff? Second, why bother? The Academy¡¯s nothing but a playground for the idle rich these days. Nobody of note has graduated from there in decades.¡± His father had leaned in, eyes narrowing, all mirth leaving his face. ¡°You want to become a true dungeon raider, Harry? You do the work yourself. You train yourself. You prove to me you¡¯ve got fire in your gut and the gravel in your eye, and I¡¯ll find you a proper tutor. Until then? Don¡¯t waste my time.¡±

    The gilded domes of the Main Arena could just be seen over the top of the walls, emerging from the thick canopy of the quads. That was where the greatest duels were fought, where the Angel Tournament was fought each year, where the deadliest students were invested with scales so as to continue their path in Ascending to their Thrones.

    Harald frowned.

    You do the work yourself.

    The Academy wasn¡¯t the answer. Technically his ¡®lineage¡¯ was sufficient to warrant his putting in an application, but he¡¯d not the wealth to pay the tuition. And scholarships were merit based; he could already envision how poorly the testing would go given his complete lack of skills.

    You train yourself.

    His father had been a brute and a bully and a sadist, but there was no denying how he¡¯d pulled himself up from the slums to achieve his successes. Few men had been as feared and respected in his time as Darius Darrowdelve. Even now the name could open doors.

    But was this what Harald wanted?

    For awhile longer he watched students rushing across the square, intent on reaching their classes or who knew what. Purposeful, innocent in their dedication, in their knowledge that everything was being taken care of for them.

    The Academy. The dungeon. Scales. Power. Raiding.

    Was that what he wanted?

    Harald grimaced and rubbed at his eyes. It¡¯s what he¡¯d always said he desired. But why? Once he¡¯d have laughed and gone on about restoring Darrowdelve Manor.

    Now?

    Harald inhaled deeply.

    What did he want?

    He saw the dire rats swarming up his body, his blood everywhere, his sword falling to the floor.

    Saw Yeoric pinning him to the ground, holding him down effortlessly, his face cold and inscrutable.

    Saw himself swinging his blade in the orchard, grunting and cursing till at last that leaf had floated apart in two halves.

    And a realization seized him by the throat: he did want power. Strength. Skill. More than that, he wanted to Ascend his Thrones, he wanted more Endowments, to acquire Artifacts, Servitors, all of it.

    Just like the heroes from his childhood books.

    He wanted to plumb the dungeon. Down past the initial twelve Iron levels, down into the real depths, down where the nightmares slithered and the demon princes held court.

    Harald stared at this soft palms. Felt his gut resting against his upper thighs. He wanted to become more.

    Why?

    A fierce emotion arose within him. It was akin to a hawk¡¯s hunting cry. He studied that emotion. Tried to put it into words.

    He wanted to become strong because¡­ because he no longer wanted to be weak. He no longer wanted to make excuses. To live in dreams. To tell himself that one day he would ascend.

    But more than that.

    He wanted¡­ did he want to best Yeoric? To hack apart the rats? Yes, but that wasn¡¯t the reason why. It wasn¡¯t to prove anything to his father, to others.

    Then?

    Harald scowled and pushed his thumbs into his eyes. Red stars danced upon the depthless field of night.

    In mastery there was¡­ grace. Exaltation.

    In finding the limits of what he could become there was¡­ truth. About whom he was.

    He wanted to be great because¡­

    ¡°Huh.¡±

    Harald sat up.

    A memory had come to him. Sitting in the arbor, back when it had been twined with roses and the pond clear and filled with fish. He¡¯d been¡­ six? In his memory, his arm was in a cast, so a week or two after his confrontation with Max. He¡¯d been reading about Gustav the Just, the leper king of Flutic who¡¯d laid down his life to seal the 83rd level of the dungeon from a demon incursion.

    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

    ¡°What are you reading?¡± his mother had asked, sitting down next to him on the bench swing.

    He¡¯d told her, his tone enthusiastic, his voice shining with admiration.

    ¡°And that¡¯s what you want to be?¡± she¡¯d asked, smiling indulgently, her hair shining gold in the sun. ¡°The king of Flutic?¡±

    ¡°No!¡± How amazed he¡¯d been at her lack of understanding. ¡°I want to be great like him!¡± He¡¯d leaped up and swung an imaginary sword.

    She¡¯d watched him, still smiling. ¡°What made him great?¡±

    He¡¯d paused, frowned. ¡°He saved everyone from the demons.¡±

    ¡°So saving people makes you great?¡±

    ¡°Of course! That makes you a hero.¡± He¡¯d swung his imaginary blade through Silenthros the demon prince. ¡°The stronger you are, the bigger the demon you can kill, and the more people you can save.¡±

    ¡°So heroes have to be strong?¡±

    ¡°The strongest!¡± He¡¯d turned to her, eyes wide. ¡°Mom! That¡¯s what I want to be. The strongest hero that ever lived. So when the biggest danger in the world shows up, I¡¯ll be the only one who can stop it.¡±

    ¡°My darling boy,¡± she¡¯d said. ¡°And you¡¯ll sacrifice yourself for everyone?¡±

    ¡°If I have to.¡± He¡¯d considered. ¡°Gustav the Just was the only one who could stop Silenthros. If he hadn¡¯t been strong enough, then the demon would have destroyed all of Flutic.¡±

    ¡°We are all greatly indebted to him,¡± agreed his mother placidly.

    ¡°That¡¯s the reason to be strong,¡± Harald had said.

    ¡°Strong people get to be wealthy, too.¡± Her mother had considered him. ¡°They get to be respected, admired, and make decisions about how everyone should live.¡±

    ¡°But those aren¡¯t the reasons to be strong.¡± He¡¯d waved away her words. ¡°No. I want to be stronger than Gustav. Stronger even than the Queencutter. I want to be so strong that one day, if the world needs it, I¡¯ll be there, ready to save it. I¡¯ll¡­¡± He¡¯d stared off into the middle distance, trying to envision a demon so massive it made even Silenthros seem insignificant. ¡°I¡¯ll say, ¡®It¡¯s all right. Don¡¯t worry. I¡¯m here.¡¯ And then I¡¯ll¡­ I¡¯ll do whatever I need to do to protect everyone.¡±

    ¡°Oh Harry.¡± She¡¯d pulled him in and kissed his cheek. ¡°You¡¯re the best, most noble, most wonderful boy a mother could ever dream of having.¡±

    He¡¯d laughed, squirmed free, and run off across the lawn, waving his imaginary sword as he chased demon princes back into the dungeon.

    Harald blinked.

    He¡¯d not thought of that moment in forever. Sam¡¯s words must have brought the memory back to him.

    ¡°That¡¯s the reason to be strong,¡± he whispered, testing the words he¡¯d not spoken in fourteen years.

    They felt right.

    They felt true.

    Harald scowled at his hands and slowly clenched them.

    His father had laughed when he¡¯d explained his ambition at the dinner table that night, and he¡¯d grown ashamed of his naivete.

    But he was past shame now.

    And that reason, childlike and true, called to his soul like nothing else ever hand.

    ¡°Strength,¡± he whispered. ¡°So that one day, when I¡¯m needed, I¡¯m ready.¡±

    He shivered as goosebumps broke out across his arms.

    Then he sighed and looked up at the Academy once more. Within were instructors, specialists, classes and lectures on everything related to the dungeon and its denizens. But he¡¯d have to learn without all that.

    He¡¯d have to train by himself.

    Harald stood with a laugh. And before he could even think about real training, he had to get in shape. He slapped his gut. He couldn¡¯t even run more than six blocks at the moment, much less defeat the demon prince Silenthros.

    There was a lot of work to be done.

    And sitting around here wouldn¡¯t get him started.

    Gathering his cloak about himself, he turned his back on the Academy and began walking home.

    Where to begin?

    He summoned his window, and studied his stats:

    Strength: 6

    Dexterity: 6

    Constitution: 5

    Ego: 18

    Presence: 8

    His Strength, Dexterity, and Stamina were abysmal. A 10 was considered respectable for your average adult, but actual dungeon raiders like Yeoric would have those stats up in the low teens. Yeoric¡¯s Strength was probably around 14. That allowed him to not only pin Harald effortlessly, but move around in all that plate armor without growing exhausted.

    Harald dismissed his window.

    When he¡¯d decided to hire a raiding team in a last ditch effort to save Darrowdelve Manor, he¡¯d sworn that he¡¯d get his Strength and Constitution to 7 before even making inquiries. At the time he¡¯d thought that a respectable goal, and had trained hard to accomplish it within two months.

    Now, divorced of all desire to lie to himself, he knew his training had been mediocre at best.

    He¡¯d run a mile each day around mid-morning, and then rested and napped till late afternoon, when he¡¯d done a half bell of lifting weights in his father¡¯s old training gym. He¡¯d discovered some manuals in the library, and fashioned a workout plan from them, and, to his delight, had achieved results.

    But all told? He¡¯d trained and exercised for less than two bells each day. The rest of the time he¡¯d lolled around reading, spent time with Vic and the others, or wasted the hours researching the dungeon and reviewing everything he¡¯d already known.

    Harald grimaced.

    Two hours a day? That would never get him where he wanted to go.

    Nor would waking mid-morning.

    Rubbing at his shorn hair, he considered how he might alter his approach.

    He couldn¡¯t afford to hire a real trainer, so instead he¡¯d simply¡­ well. Go all out till he couldn¡¯t train any more. Then keep going.

    Harald blinked.

    As far as plans went, it was pretty rudimentary. He knew that the Academy had finely tailored plans for each student, with goals set according to their objectives and ambitions. But Harald was starting from so far behind that he didn¡¯t need nuance, didn¡¯t need careful calibration.

    He simply needed to grow stronger, faster, and more resilient.

    Even this walk up the Eternal Circuit had worn him out.

    He thought on the bright boy he¡¯d once been, energetically cutting apart imaginary demons with his blade, and then looked down at himself. He¡¯d already sweated through his tunic, and that was just by walking for a bell or so.

    ¡°You¡¯ve a long way to go,¡± he whispered to himself, but instead of dampening his enthusiasm, it seemed to only add fuel to his resolve.

    Curious, he summoned his window again, and summoned the description for his Soul Nature, Insatiable Void:

    Insatiable Void: You are the aching heart of ambition, the howling hunger that yearns to consume the world. A child of darkness, you will always seek the light, but will destroy all that you pursue.

    The aching heart of ambition? Hardly. He¡¯d merely resolved to grow stronger. Anyone could do that. The demon¡¯s gift was overblown.

    He turned to his Soul Ability:

    Condemnation of Success Description: Every success can be outdone. There is no end for you, for every end is but a beginning, and always will your eye be drawn to the horizon. Every peak shall prove false, and every victory bitter. Nothing shall suffice, and this shall be your goad, your lash, your blessing, your torment.

    Again he frowned. On some level that was in accord with his childhood wishes, to grow to be the strongest that had ever lived, but for every victory to be bitter?

    Harald shook his head. Grandiloquent nonsense. He wasn¡¯t about to become some demon¡¯s plaything, a hollowed out monster of ambition and torment.

    Harald snorted. ¡°Nice try, Vorakhar.¡±

    He¡¯d awaken at dawn the next day to go for his first run. His legs were already sore from all the walking yesterday, and today¡¯s trip around the Eternal Circuit had worn him out.

    Best to start fresh. To put on clean training clothes and go for a healthy morning jog. A dawn jog, even. He¡¯d ask Sam to awaken him at the Seventh Bell. Maybe the Sixth? He¡¯d go for a good run, up nice and early, and then come back to shower and have a healthy breakfast.

    That sounded good.

    Harald started walking quicker.

    A healthy run.

    A reasonable run, first thing.

    Tomorrow.

    Today he¡¯d rest.

    The words kept playing over and over in his mind.

    Today he¡¯d rest.

    He¡¯d take it easy.

    Tomorrow he¡¯d run.

    Tomorrow he¡¯d try.

    Today, rest.

    Today, nothing.

    Today he¡¯d just lie around like a fucking animal and dream about tomorrow¡¯s successes.

    Today he¡¯d be nothing. Today he¡¯d be the same as ever, making promises.

    He was breathing hard, he realized, arms pumping as he strode forcefully through the crowd. People stared at him in annoyance as he barged past them.

    Tomorrow he¡¯d become strong.

    Or maybe the day after.

    Sure, why rush it? He could just lie around for a week, really make sure he was recovered from the dungeon, absolutely leave nothing to chance. In fact, he could eat nothing but bacon and drink nothing but grease till he was well and truly obese, and then he¡¯d start training, because that would be more admirable, right? In fact, he should just never train, just lie around all the time telling the world that he would begin any day now -

    He was running.

    His heart was pounding, and his fury was a terrible thing, a storm cloud wracked by lightning, dark and fulminous.

    Fine. He¡¯d run today. But he should go easy now. He was still miles from home. He should walk the rest of the way, then fold his cloak just within the gate and go for his run.

    Running now was stupid.

    He should wait till he could run his old path down Baldric and around Season Park.

    Instead he found himself running faster. The pain in his legs grew, and sweat coated his brow. A stitch was growing in his side, sharp and piercing.

    The more he reasoned with himself the angrier he got.

    Unable to keep dodging people, he dropped off the sidewalk and ran down the shoulder of the Circuit itself, his cloak flapping against his calves.

    But his fury couldn¡¯t fuel him for long.

    The pain in his calves grew agonizing, his breathing labored, the stitch a mortal wound. Gasping, he drew up. He was wheezing, panting for breath like a dog.

    It was unreasonable to think he could just start running as if he¡¯d been training for months. It hurt. It felt uncomfortable. He probably looked a fool.

    Harald came to a complete stop, hands on his hips, head hanging. Sweat ran down to the tip of his nose. He was breathing so hard he was scowling. Thick spit coated the back of his throat.

    Damn it. All that big talk and he couldn¡¯t run for more than five minutes.

    But it wasn¡¯t his fault.

    His legs hurt.

    He was out of breath.

    Nothing shall suffice, and this shall be your goad, your lash, your blessing, your torment.

    ¡°Damn it,¡± he hissed, and began running again.

    Carriages rolled by, the drivers staring curiously at him. The pedestrians watched him jog past, then glanced behind him to see if he was being chased by the world¡¯s slowest dog.

    The pain was immediate.

    It shot up his shins, stabbed him in his gut.

    Gasping, looking an idiot, he ran. His cloak was choking him, so he tore it off and wrapped it around his arm.

    One more step. Just till that lamp. Just around this next curve. One more step. Just¡­ just a little more.

    Harald forced himself to keep going. The slight, gentle downward slope of the Circuit helped. And then, to his surprise, the pain in his side began to recede. The pain in his legs. It didn¡¯t make the running easier, exactly, but he no longer felt like he was about to collapse.

    Panting, dripping, he ran on, marveling at himself.

    Where had the pain gone?

    On he ran. When he drew close to Baldric Avenue the pain returned, but it felt different now, more of an ache in his ankles and knees than in his muscles. He could barely breathe. But sheer momentum kept him moving.

    His legs felt like blocks of wood by the time he reached his gate. His jog was only marginally faster than a walk, and but when he broke its gait he staggered and nearly reeled off to the side.

    Gasping, nauseous, he reached his gate and grabbed hold of the bars. Held on so that he¡¯d not fall over, and pressed his brow to the cold metal.

    He¡¯d done it.

    The sound of metallic stars ringing out against the void filled his mind:

    The Demon Seed Has Stirred

    Your Constitution has risen from 5 to 6

    Blinking away stars, he at first grinned, then frowned.

    A raise already? After just one bleeding run?

    But wait. What? The Demon Seed had¡­ ¡®Stirred¡¯?

    Wiping sweat from his face, he felt a fierce elation out of all proportion to what he¡¯d just done. Even his pang of concern couldn¡¯t prevent him from feeling as if he¡¯d conquered the world.

    He knew it didn¡¯t take much to raise such a ridiculously low stamina as his own, but to do so after one run¡­ Were they connected, the two statements? Had his raising his Constitution caused his Demon Seed to stir, or had they both happened independently of each other due to his burst of will?

    Or¡ªand he shuddered to think this¡ªhad his Demon Seed caused his Constitution to rise so quickly?

    Exhaustion and delirium made it hard to care. Regardless, this had been his effort, his desire, his victory.

    Fuck tomorrow.

    Fuck getting a proper rest.

    ¡°Nothing will suffice,¡± he gasped, then pulled the gate open so that its damned hinges screeched like dire rats. ¡°Nothing.¡±

 Chapter 10

    It took Harald far too long to clean up. He just wouldn¡¯t stop sweating, and his heart kept racing. It was almost as if his body was affronted at having been abused in such manner.

    Still, elation kept Harald¡¯s chin up. Every once in a while he¡¯d check his window and admire his Constitution of 6. One run. But the puzzle remained. Constitution was a reflection of your hardiness, your stamina, your resilience, your ability to keep going.

    How had one run raised it?

    Finally cleaned, he tossed his sweaty training clothes into the hamper in his bathroom and then paused. Who would do his laundry now that Sam was free?

    ¡°Guess I¡¯ll have to ask her to teach me,¡± he mused.

    Then, still feeling that weird mixture of elation and nausea, he descended to the kitchen and looked around for Sam. Everything was quiet, the late afternoon casting long shadows across the marble floors.

    ¡°Sam?¡± He knocked on her door. ¡°You in there?¡±

    ¡°Yes, one moment!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll wait for you in the first parlor,¡± he called back, and stepped away. He¡¯d never been in Sam¡¯s room. Some unspoken agreement had ruled that her private domain; for someone with no independence or self-determination, it had always felt right, felt necessary,  to give her one corner of the world that was her own.

    He wasn¡¯t going to barge in there now just because she was free.

    She joined him in the parlor a minute later. But she¡¯d changed. Literally. Gone was her maid¡¯s outfit, reserved and subdued, elegant and proper. When she stepped into the parlor doorway, she was blushing profusely and barely able to meet his eyes.

    Because she was wearing armor.

    Good quality armor, too.

    ¡°Damn, Sam.¡± He¡¯d been massaging his thighs, but his shock caused him to stand and admire her.

    She glanced down at herself, half- shy, half-guilty. ¡°I always thought it a frivolous expense, but. Well.¡±

    Sam¡¯s armor was a blend of elegance and utility, a fusion of leather and metal. A cuirass, burnished to a subtle gleam, hugged her upper torso, while her waist was cinched in dark leather. Pauldrons guarded her shoulders, with beautifully forged chainmail sleeving her arms and disappearing under her leather vambraces. Twin belts crossed at her waist, and a chainmail skirt fell over her leather breeches to her knees. She wore fingerless gloves and comfortable, sturdy looking boots.

    She looked amazing.

    ¡°When did you buy all that?¡± Harald moved forward, awe-struck. ¡°You look incredible.¡±

    ¡°You think?¡± Sam curled a lock of blond hair behind one ear. ¡°I had it custom made by Furthak Minos, a well-regarded smith in the Sparks. I, well. I spent half a year finding him, then another convincing him to make this.¡±

    ¡°Look at how intricate this chainmail is.¡± The weave was dense, the chain freshly oiled, the craftsmanship obvious. ¡°And it looks agile. Tough, but I bet you can move freely in it?¡±

    ¡°Oh yes.¡± Sam grinned. ¡°I¡¯ve always thought being able to dodge a blow was nearly as useful as being able to take one.¡±

    ¡°Always?¡± asked Harald, raising a brow.

    Again Sam flushed and looked down at herself. ¡°Yes. I¡¯ve¡­ it¡¯s been a dream of mine to go raiding for as long as I can remember.¡±

    Harald put his hand to his temple. ¡°You¡¯re serious? How did I never know about this?¡±

    Sam glanced up at him, her expression suddenly somewhere between wry and sad. ¡°Because you never asked, Harald.¡±

    ¡°True.¡± He felt her words like a blow. ¡°I never could think of anything but my own misery. I¡¯m sorry, Sam. But I wish you¡¯d told me! We could have obsessed together! I could have given you access to Father¡¯s library¡­ what?¡±

    An impish smile rose to Sam¡¯s lips. ¡°What makes you think I haven¡¯t read all those books three times over?¡±

    ¡°You have!?¡±

    Now she laughed, a measure of confidence coming back to her. ¡°Of course! Honestly, taking care of you and the house was plenty of work, but what do you think I¡¯ve done with my nights, with the days when you were gone? Just stood in the kitchen, expressionless, waiting for you to come home so I could spring back to life?¡±

    Harald made a face. ¡°Um. Yes?¡±

    She mock-glared at him. ¡°Well, you¡¯re wrong. I¡¯ve had the run of this house for four years. The only thing you ever noticed was whether your bath was hot, your clothing clean, and food cooked to your liking. Otherwise I¡¯ve been able to do as I pleased.¡±

    ¡°No kidding.¡± Harald limped back to his armchair and sat. ¡°You really do look amazing. May I ask what this Furthak charged you?¡±

    Sam gazed down at herself and ran her hands over the form-fitting leather corset that hugged her midriff. ¡±It was expensive, but I¡¯ve never regretted it. I paid three Aurora Veils.¡±

    Harald let out a low whistle. ¡°Three thousand Copper Moons? Where did you get so much?¡±

    ¡°My father never spent his pay.¡± Her smile turned wistful. ¡°He left me his lifetime¡¯s earnings. That, and I¡¯ve been paid a Golden Dawn for every month of service since I inherited his oath.¡±

    ¡°Incredible. You know, you could have Awoken your Cosmos with that kind of money.¡±

    Sam raised an eyebrow at him.

    ¡°What?¡± Harald sat up. ¡°You¡¯ve Awoken your Cosmos?!¡±

    ¡°Harald.¡± Her impatience was barely restrained. ¡°Didn¡¯t you hear the part about my wanting to be a raider when I earned my freedom?¡±

    ¡°Oh wow!¡± Harald grinned. ¡°Can I see?¡±

    She bit her lower lip.

    ¡°Oh!¡± Harald immediately raised both hands. ¡°I mean, only if you feel like it! You¡¯re obviously¡ªobviously!¡ªunder no obligation. I¡¯m sorry, I was just curious.¡±

    ¡°You know I¡¯d show you,¡± she said. ¡°It¡¯s just¡­ I wish it were more impressive.¡± And she made the gesture so that her statistics appeared before him.

    Name: Samantha Tuppins

    Soul Nature: Bright Star

    Soul Rank: Rare

    Soul Ability: Shining Beacon

    Class: Majordomo 3

    Class Actives: Steward¡¯s Foresight, Calm Command

    Class Passives: Guardian¡¯s Vigil, Item Catalogue, Guest Acumen

    Endowments: None

    Strength: 10

    Dexterity: 10

    Constitution: 10

    Ego: 8

    Presence: 7

    Thrones: 0/7

    Scales: 1,310/10,000

    Artifacts: None

    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    Servitors: None

    Harald was fascinated. ¡°You¡¯re Third level?¡±

    Sam made a face. ¡°Yes, as a Majordomo. Hardly what I¡¯d be using in the dungeon. Unless I wished to sell my services to a particularly wealthy goblin. My intention was to enroll in the Free Company as a lantern bearer till I was offered my first level in a class such as an Iron Vanguard, a Warcleaver maybe, or probably a Shieldmaiden.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve thought this through. Obviously.¡± Harald studied her stats. ¡°But you¡¯d lose two Actives and three Passives. I know, I know. You don¡¯t need Guest Acumen in the dungeon. It¡¯s just¡­ impressive.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± said Sam, and gestured at her armor. ¡°This is impressive. ¡°Majordomo 3¡¯? I¡¯ve spent years dreaming of the day I can get rid of that Class.¡±

    ¡°No, it really is impressive. I¡¯ve no Class at all. Nothing.¡± Harald considered. ¡°Then again, I¡¯m a terrible yardstick to measure yourself against. And for that matter, how are all your physical stats 10¡¯s?!¡±

    Sam smirked. ¡°I¡¯ve had a lot of free time. And nobody else was using your father¡¯s training equipment.¡±

    Harald leaned forward. ¡°You¡¯ve been using Dad¡¯s weights and gear?¡±

    Sam crossed her arms. ¡°Some.¡±

    ¡°Some.¡± Harald gave a despairing laugh. ¡°You¡¯re as strong and fast and fit as a full grown man.¡±

    ¡°Or woman,¡± corrected Sam.

    ¡°Or woman,¡± conceded Harald. ¡°I just¡­ wow. I¡¯ve been so blind, all these years. Have you¡­¡± He hesitated, suddenly nervous. ¡°Have you been training with a weapon?¡±

    ¡°No.¡± Sam blew a lock of blond hair out of her face and sat on the very edge of another armchair. ¡°That was a step too far. It was one thing to train in your father¡¯s gym. But to be sneaking out of the house for regular lessons? Impossible. I considered hiring someone to come give me lessons, but I¡¯d already spent the majority of my savings, and I didn¡¯t need to be a Level 3 Majordomo to know how bad that would look, having a private sword tutor coming to the estate to train the head maid.¡±

    ¡°Well.¡± Harald rubbed the back of his head and admired Sam¡¯s armor again. ¡°You look absolutely lethal. And far better equipped than my leather armor. I¡¯m so impressed.¡±

    Sam blushed. ¡°Thanks, Harald. I¡¯ve¡­ it¡¯s silly of me, but I¡¯ve dreamed of the day I could step out of my room wearing this. But I always imagined it would be on my Emancipation. I always envisioned myself wearing this when I came to the Releasing Ceremony.¡± Her eyes gleamed. ¡°Can¡¯t say I didn¡¯t enjoy speculating on your expression.¡±

    Harald grinned. ¡°I¡¯m glad we didn¡¯t have to wait that long. So. You¡¯re going to go join up with the Free Company?¡±

    ¡°It depends.¡± She studied him. ¡°What did you decide?¡±

    ¡°Me? Nothing so tangible as that. Just that¡­ I¡¯m going to get fitter, too. I¡¯ve so much catching up to do. I was just going to exercise and train as best I could till¡­ well. I don¡¯t know. Till we¡¯re evicted from here.¡±

    ¡°I see.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not a complicated plan, I¡¯ll grant you that. But I¡¯ve no scales. No way to hire a tutor. And I don¡¯t want to be a lantern bearer or pack carrier for a proper group of raiders. And¡­¡±

    She picked up on his uneasy tone. ¡°What is it?¡±

    ¡°My new window. I ran home from the Academy -¡±

    ¡°All the way from the Academy?¡± She arched a skeptical eyebrow. ¡°Did the Admissions Officer loose their hounds?¡±

    ¡°Ha, ha, ha,¡± Harald said. ¡°Since when have you been such a wit?¡±

    Again Sam simply raised a brow.

    ¡°Fair. No; I was sitting there, thinking things over, and realized that what I wanted more than anything in the world was to grow strong. And I remembered this old memory of mine¡­¡± Harald recounted his conversation with his mother, and how it had rung as true for him today as it had when he was little. ¡°So I realized that¡¯s what I wanted. To just¡­ push myself. To grow. So that one day I can be of service. To Flutic, to its people.¡±

    ¡°Given how events have been developing with the dungeon,¡± said Sam darkly, ¡°you¡¯ll probably find yourself deeply appreciated.¡±

    ¡°You mean with the Shudderings?¡±

    ¡°Not just that, but yes. You¡¯ve been keeping track of the Mining Consortium¡¯s monthly report and the Gazette rankings?¡±

    ¡°Uh¡­¡± Harald blinked. ¡°No?¡±

    ¡°Honestly, Harald.¡± Her tone grew impatient, which was a wonder. He couldn¡¯t think of the last time she¡¯d dared sound impatient with him. If ever. ¡°If you want to be a professional raider you need to keep abreast of developments. The Flutic Mining Consortium releases a monthly listing of the active raiders, listing their Class, scales recovered, and frequency of delving. There¡¯s a specialized broadsheet called the Gazette that uses that data to estimate the quantity of scales recovered from the dungeons on a monthly basis, to rank active raiders, and chart productivity and activity over time.¡±

    ¡°That sounds like a lot of work,¡± said Harald.

    ¡°What I¡¯m getting at is that the Dungeon Gazette has charted a steady decline in both scales extracted and the success rates of new teams entering the dungeon. It¡¯s not so alarming if you only look at the year-to-year change, but if you step back and compare numbers to five years ago, or go right back to the beginning when the Mining Consortium began to release their reports in 632, there¡¯s a massive decline.¡±

    Harald stared at Sam, fascinated. ¡°How do you know all this?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll repeat, I¡¯ve had a lot of quiet evenings and empty nights to fill, and a brightly burning obsession of my own. But do you hear what I¡¯m saying, Harald?¡± Her manner was amazingly serious and focused. ¡°Since the records began, there¡¯s been a 61% drop off in scale value extracted each month.¡±

    ¡°Sure, but like everyone says, that¡¯s probably just because the Iron levels of the dungeon are nearly played out,¡± protested Harald.

    ¡°Yes, and the drop in Copper Moons and Silver Starbursts account for a lot of that percentage, relatively speaking. But do you know when the last Nightshard was brought out?¡±

    ¡°Um.¡± That was the scale his father had recovered twelve years ago. ¡°My father¡¯s?¡±

    ¡°Correct. And his was so notable because before that the last recovered was by the Dawn Guard half a century ago, in 744. It gets worse the higher up you go. The Rat Catcher brought out the last Nebula Bloom in 651. There hasn¡¯t been a Celestial Prismwing brought out in two centuries.¡±

    Harald sucked on his teeth. ¡°So what does that mean?¡±

    ¡°What does that mean?¡± Sam stood and began to pace. ¡°That Flutic has been forced to open the dungeon to foreigners, for one, in the hopes of deriving revenue by taxation. That the noble houses have stagnated, as the lack of new, high-level scales means nobody dares consume their own and lose their exalted status as a result. That the city, which was once a marvel of scale-driven wonders, is slowly regressing into a dark age, where we depend on horses for transportation and burning candles for illumination. The economy is shrinking, which means Flutic¡¯s army is underpaid, which means those disastrous wars to contain the Marnheim civil war that the nobles insisted on a decade ago were both necessary to prop up the armed forces while also making matters here at home far worse -¡±

    ¡°Sam, Sam!¡± Harald raised his hands to cut her off.

    She wheeled at the far side of the room and glared at him. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°I¡­¡± How to put his emotion into words? How every moment with her was a new liberation? ¡°I¡¯m just amazed by your¡­ learning. But what you¡¯re getting at, overall, is that Flutic has been declining, and things are getting worse.¡±

    She sighed and sat back down. ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°And that my resolution to be of service is thus quite timely.¡±

    Her annoyance slipped away and she smiled. ¡°Quite. If you can become strong enough.¡±

    ¡°About that.¡± He hesitated. It was easier to just not think about it, a habit he¡¯d cultivated his whole life. But with a deep breath he pushed through. ¡°My Constitution rose from a 5 to a 6 after my run home.¡±

    ¡°Impressive,¡± said Sam. ¡°Perhaps you were just under the cusp of what you needed to rise up a rank, and that was enough?¡±

    ¡°Maybe. But. Do you remember my new Endowment? Demon¡­ Demon Seed?¡±

    ¡°I¡­ yes.¡± Her expression darkened. ¡°I didn¡¯t know how to address it, before.¡±

    ¡°It was part of the Constitution rank-up. The message read: ¡®The Demon Seed Has Stirred.¡¯¡±

    Sam leaned forward, the leather components of her armor creaking. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ Fascinating. And terrifying. What does that mean?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve no idea. But I didn¡¯t like it. Originally, when I first discovered the changes, I thought I could avoid this¡­ this demonic taint¡­ by simply not doing evil stuff. But how is running evil? Why would a three mile run¡ªand a bad one at that¡ªnurture the Seed?¡±

    Sam bit her lower lip as she considered. ¡°There weren¡¯t any books on demons in your father¡¯s library,¡± she said at last. ¡°But there have to be people who¡¯ve studied this in the past. Perhaps we can gain access to a demonology book that would explain it.¡±

    ¡°Right. Yes. The Academy, perhaps, or the Royal Library.¡± He winced. ¡°Not that I have access to either.¡±

    ¡°The Free Company has it¡¯s own collection. Perhaps if we joined, we could gain access there.¡±

    ¡°True. But we¡¯d have to join as lantern bearers.¡±

    ¡°Which you¡¯re too good for.¡±

    Harald hesitated, then simply nodded. ¡°It¡¯s not how I want to start. I¡¯ve got this¡­ strange and terrifying new window. My Soul Rank is Divine.¡± He shrugged helplessly. ¡°I feel like I can¡¯t just go carry a lantern for some random person, you know? I have to make something of that.¡± He considered, then sat up straighter. ¡°No. I mean I will make something of that.¡±

    ¡°All right.¡± Sam considered him. ¡°The next payment on the house is due in one week. Once we fail to make it, we¡¯ll be given a thirty day period to make the payment. If we still haven¡¯t paid it by then, we¡¯ll be fined and given a final month to pay as they begin the court proceedings to take the house away from us.¡±

    ¡°How long will that take?¡±

    ¡°Since we don¡¯t have the funds to contest it, probably that second month. But once the judge agrees that we¡¯re in default, they¡¯ll order us evicted so that the city may claim the house and decide how best to use it to pay off the debts.¡±

    ¡°So we have about two months left.¡±

    ¡°Two months,¡± agreed Sam dubiously.

    ¡°There¡¯s a lot we can accomplish in two months.¡±

    ¡°There is?¡±

    ¡°I think so. We can train, we can exercise, we can try and find a tutor¡ªor at the very least, spar together¡ªand then see how things have progressed by the time we¡¯re evicted, and make a decision then.¡±

    ¡°I¡­ well, I drew up some liquidation plans in case of this worst case scenario. There¡¯s a lot of valuable furniture, a few antiques, and a number of your father¡¯s adventuring mementoes that will fetch a high price at auction for those obsessed with the dungeon and its history. We could try to have everything independently evaluated, but I think we¡¯d get just as good a price if we went with one of the main auction houses. We¡¯d simply have to get it all done before we enter the second month, because then the debtors could have the court place a hold on any such sales.¡±

    ¡°So we have to sell everything in four weeks?¡±

    ¡°We should try, at any rate.¡±

    ¡°And how much do you think we¡¯d get?¡±

    Sam wobbled her head from side to side as she considered. ¡°Given my estimates as informed by my ability, Item Catalogue? Maybe a Horizon¡¯s Whisper?¡±

    ¡°Not bad,¡± said Harald. ¡°We could definitely hire a Blade Mentor for that much, if not a Sword Savant.¡±

    ¡°The better they are, the more expensive. We¡¯d have to do our research, because there¡¯s no pointing in receiving training from some genius instructor for only three weeks.¡±

    ¡°Sure.¡± Harald felt a burst of excitement. ¡°Regardless, first I need to get into better shape. Any instructor worth their salt would laugh me out of their training hall if I walked in today. So we sell everything we can, I train and exercise, and in the meantime we¡¯ll do research on finding the perfect mentor. By the time we¡¯re evicted, we¡¯ll be ready for anything.¡±

    He half expected Sam to laugh scornfully at him, as Vic or the others would have done, but she simply sat up straight, looking glorious in her masterwork armor, and gave a firm nod.

    ¡°Yes,¡± she said, with admirable conviction. ¡°All right. Let¡¯s do it.¡±

    Harald hesitated. ¡°You can also obviously still join the Free Company. You¡¯re -¡±

    She flushed, hesitated for a terrible second, then shook her head sharply as if chasing away a fly. ¡°Don¡¯t be an idiot, Harald.¡± She smiled stiffly. ¡°Stop.¡±

    A blush of warmth spread through his chest, and to his surprise, despite everything, despite the Demon Seed, the imminent eviction, and the turning upside of his entire world, he realized that he¡¯d never been happier. ¡°All right. Great. Then we¡¯ll train together as hard as we can.¡±

    Sam rose smoothly to her feet and extended her hand. ¡°Seeing as I¡¯ve some experience in all this, how about I help guide you through your first couple of months?¡±

    Harald stood and grasped her hand. It was surprisingly strong and callused. ¡°Only if you don¡¯t hold back.¡±

    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t worry on that score.¡± Her smile became predatory. ¡°I¡¯ve four years of vengeance to catch up on. You¡¯re not going to know what hit you.¡±

 Chapter 11

    Sam woke Harald at Sixth Bell.

    Which is what they¡¯d agreed on the evening before.

    To Harald, it had sounded like a great idea. An early start, a savage way to begin their first training.

    But in the pre-dawn dark, his body had other ideas.

    ¡°Harald. Harald!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m¡­¡± The siren call of sleep was wicked. The warmth of his bed. His pillow had developed a suction power that made it impossible to lift his head. And he hadn¡¯t slept well. Had awoken at Third Bell to lie there in the dark, his thoughts racing, cursing his inability to sleep.

    ¡°Hey.¡± She shook his shoulder. ¡°Up!¡±

    ¡°Yeah, yeah.¡± He lurched up to sitting like a corpse brought back from the dead. His face felt slack, his body torpid, his mind sluggish.

    Sam was already dressed in her armor. She¡¯d set a single candle on his dresser, and in its warm yellow light her armor gleamed and glittered. Her hair was freshly braided, her face alert and ready.

    ¡°Two months starts now,¡± she said. ¡°Up!¡±

    His whole life he¡¯d yearned to have this kind of discipline. To be the kind of person who simply did what needed doing. Who woke up earlier, worked out hard, who ate the right kind of food, who pushed themselves to fulfill their potential. Always he¡¯d looked for tricks and shortcuts, motivational snippets or insights from those who¡¯d accomplished what he¡¯d yearned for.

    And always he¡¯d fallen short.

    Always his best resolutions had lasted a week, maybe two, before something, life, bad luck, tripped him up and sent him falling head first back into his bed, weak and making excuses for his failure.

    Sam stared down at him, her eyes narrowed, fully expecting him to protest, to fall back into his deliciously soft and warm sheets.

    A lifetime of seeking shortcuts had failed him. Sitting there, leaden and lumpen, exhausted and dull-witted, a new truth hit Harald like a round-house punch: shortcuts failed because there were no shortcuts.

    You either got out of bed, or you didn¡¯t.

    There was no way to make the process easier.

    Harald stood up jerkily. ¡°Gah,¡± he protested, as he stumbled over to where Sam had laid out his clothing and leather armor the night before. ¡°How do my legs still hurt from running?¡±

    He shucked his nightshirt, and shivering, hastily got dressed. Sam had generously helped him clean and mend his armor, and together they worked on getting him strapped and cinched in. The armor felt stiff and unwieldy, like a half-molted insect skin. Finally, when he was done, Harald swung his arms about in a series of huggers and eyed Sam warily. ¡°Breakfast?¡±

    Her smile was cruel. ¡°Time to run.¡±

    They exited the dark house and emerged into the pre-dawn stillness. The air was damp and cool, the world a mass of shadows, the sky to the east just starting to lighten from deep cobalt to a gentler robin¡¯s egg blue.

    Harald felt off. Sore and shivering from the cold, he felt stiff and tired. The old him would have refused to step outside, much less leave the bed. The new him just gazed dolefully at Sam. ¡°Ready when you are.¡±

    ¡°Then keep up, big boy.¡± And she set off at a light jog down the driveway.

    ¡°Big boy?¡± He glared after her in mock-outrage. ¡°Hey! I was built for power, not speed!¡±

    She just laughed mockingly as she reached the gate.

    She wasn¡¯t going to stop and wait for him.

    Cursing he took after her.

    Every step sucked, the impact jarring. Running stiff in the cold was the worst. He pounded down the driveway, gravel crunching, then slipped out the gate and turned right to follow Sam along Baldric Avenue.

    They¡¯d worked out the route the evening before. It was four blocks to Season Park, which Sam had guessed was just shy of a mile in circumference. A trail wound around the perimeter, perfect for running, and she said that there were other regulars who used it at this hour to either walk or jog.

    Madmen, Harald had thought.

    But by the time they reached the park the worst of his stiffness has eased. His breath was still coming heavily, and somehow, despite the cold, he¡¯d already started sweating.

    Sam would jog ahead, reach some bend in the path, then turn back and jog past him. A minute later she¡¯d jog ahead again, and in this manner she maintained her pace while he labored along, gasping and feeling wretched.

    Season Park was large, elegant, and the path was dotted with dead scale lanternpoles. Once it must have been beautiful, to be lit at this hour with the steady radiance of a Copper Crescent, but now they simply ran in the gloom, occasionally passing another runner.

    The leather armor made everything worse. It chafed, it weighed him down, and made him feel a hundred times more awkward.

    But that was another point of agreement from the night before: if they were going to train to raid the dungeon, they might as well grow comfortable exercising in their armor.

    A decision he now profoundly regretted.

    Harald stared grimly at the pavement ahead of him. Sam had given him some advice on how to run; to lightly pinch his forefinger and thumb as if holding a flower petal, to keep his arms low and relaxed; to find landmarks to work toward; to inhale through his nose and exhale through his mouth.

    None of it helped. Without the ornery fire from his run back from the Academy, this jog felt uncomfortable and unending.

    But each time he came within throwing distance of slowing to a walk, he¡¯d catch sight of Sam running lightly, effortlessly, and though he might slow down, he refused to stop altogether.

    In such manner he painfully worked his way around the park, limping and gasping, till at last they returned to the starting point.

    Sam awaited him by the willow tree that marked where they¡¯d entered the park. ¡°One more?¡±

    It was a dare, but there was concern in her voice as well. He didn¡¯t look good. It was one thing to sit around his manor making bold plans and talking as if he could accomplish the impossible. It was another to haul himself around the park before Seventh Bell and look like he was going to die puking his lungs out.

    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

    It had taken all his will to run that one mile. He felt slovenly and ridiculous. Everyone else out at this hour was in Sam¡¯s league. He was the only idiot stumbling along and trying desperately to swallow down the thick spit that kept caking the back of his throat.

    It would be reasonable to go home at this point.

    They¡¯d had a good run, even if Sam barely looked warmed up.

    Reasonable. Understandable. Wise, even.

    ¡°Hell no,¡± he gasped, and took off along the path.

    The aches and pains in his body returned. The pain in his shins, in his knees, a stitch like a bleeding wound in his side. His throat burned, and he couldn¡¯t get enough air. Sweat blinded him, and his sole comfort was that he¡¯d cut his hair, so that his flaxen locks wouldn¡¯t plaster all over his face.

    But he¡¯d learned something from that first run.

    The body lied to you.

    It told you that you were done. That you had nothing left to give. That it hurt too much. That you should stop. That you should cease pushing.

    But if you ignored it.

    If you gritted your teeth and just ran on, the body would grudgingly oblige.

    Harald knew he had more left to give. Greater reserves than he thought possible. He¡¯d tapped them on the run down from the Academy.

    He just had to force his way through the pain, the reluctance of his mind, his instinctive abhorrence of discomfort.

    So just as he felt like he had nothing left, he willed his stride to length. He sucked in deep lungful¡¯s of air, and blinked away the sweat.

    You¡¯ve got more, he told himself, needing, wanting to believe it. You¡¯ve got so much more. Don¡¯t listen to your weakness. That¡¯s the old you. Just run. Just run!

    And somehow, from somewhere, he found the energy.

    He didn¡¯t exactly accelerate, but he struggled his way back to his old pace, and somehow his body finally warmed up. He fought through the pain, the aches, the discomfort, and found his stride.

    ¡°There you go!¡± Sam breezed past him, her own face now damp with sweat. ¡°I¡¯m going to go all out for a bit, see if I can lap you before you get back to the willow tree. Keep it up!¡±

    Harald didn¡¯t have the breath to curse her. Instead he just watched as she took off, her stride enviably long, and all too soon she rounded a curve ahead and was gone.

    Then it was just him.

    Him and the pain, the discomfort, his resolve, his battle against weakness.

    Everything shrank down to the next step, the next inhalation. Curve after curve, around the whole park, other runners constantly lapping him, till at last the willow tree came into view, now lit by the rising the sun.

    Ha! He¡¯d reached it before Sam could -

    She blasted past him in an all-out run, a mile-eating stride, her chainmail sweetly jangling. When she passed the tree she turned and slowed, jogging backward, and then came to a stop, grinning widely.

    Harald closed the distance.

    ¡°You did it!¡± She finally stopped jogging in place and ran her hand over her brow. ¡°Not bad.¡±

    He bent over, hands on his knees, and fought to catch his breath.

    ¡°Head back?¡± Sam asked.

    Harald straightened, winced, closed his eyes tight. ¡°One more.¡±

    ¡°You sure?¡± She actually sounded concerned. ¡°You don¡¯t look too good.¡±

    ¡°One more,¡± he asserted, and lurched forward, half-falling into his run.

    In the end he managed three additional laps, though each featured ever more walking till the last was just him limping along, gasping and wincing and blinking away the sweat. The Seventh Bell rang as the willow tree came back into view, and Sam was waiting for him there, having lapped him several times so that she, too, had had a good run.

    They walked back in silence, though Harald could sense Sam watching him covertly. He was too dazed and uncomfortable to say anything though.

    Traffic was picking up on Baldric Avenue by the time they got home. People stared at them curiously, partially for their armor, partially because Harald looked like he was trying to decide whether or not to have a heart attack. But once they entered the manor grounds the prying eyes disappeared.

    ¡°Harald,¡± said Sam warningly.

    ¡°What?¡± He wiped at his face and saw a man standing, arms crossed, outside the manor¡¯s front door.

    Yeoric.

    It felt like a bucket of iced water had been dumped on his head. Yeoric was alone, and though he wore plain clothing, he had his broad-bladed sword buckled at his hip.

    ¡°What do you think he wants?¡± whispered Sam, stepping in close, her nervousness obvious.

    ¡°Hell if I know.¡± Harald fought to catch his breath. ¡°Your Guest Acumen tell you anything?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s not official a guest, so no.¡±

    ¡°Then let¡¯s find out.¡± Wishing he had his own blade, wishing that he didn¡¯t feel like a half-dead yearling calf, Harald raised his chin and marched up the driveway to where Yeoric awaited them.

    Yeoric. He looked exactly like the opposite of everything Harald felt. Broad shouldered, deep chested, with a narrow waist and long, muscled legs, he obviously would have had no trouble keeping up with Sam on the trail. His clothing was plain, sure, but of subtly good quality; Harald had enough experience with tailoring to realize that the outfit was both new and custom cut to Yeoric¡¯s powerful frame.

    The man watched, face almost expressionless, but there was a slight curl of his lip that betrayed his opinion of Harald¡¯s appearance.

    ¡°Master Darrowdelve.¡± Yeoric¡¯s deep voice resonated in the dawn air. ¡°I was afraid I¡¯d not catch you at home.¡±

    ¡°Yeoric.¡± Harald hesitated at the base of the steps, then angrily told himself that this was his home, and labored up the ten broad white steps to stop before Yeoric. They were of a height, which was good, but still it felt awfully uncomfortable to be this close to the man. It was as if his body remembered the punch that had laid him low, and hated being close enough for a second. ¡°You¡¯ve some nerve showing your face at my home.¡±

    ¡°Is that so?¡± Yeoric affected surprise. ¡°But we have an outstanding business arrangement. You¡¯re owed 5% of our income, remember? I¡¯ve come to deliver your earnings.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll be honest. I thought you were just taunting me.¡±

    Yeoric smiled. ¡°You do us wrong, Harald. We¡¯re truly grateful for your patronage, and in time, we¡¯re sure you¡¯ll earn back what you¡¯ve invested in us. Here. Your part of the haul.¡±

    And he reached into his pouch and drew forth three Copper Moons.

    Harald placed his hands on his hips. ¡°Three Copper Moons? I invested a Zenith Tide in your crew. You stole a Horizon¡¯s Whisper worth of scales from me. And you come here to give me three Copper Moons?¡±

    Yeoric raised a brow. ¡°Our first raid resulted in six Silver Starbursts. Not much, but it was just our first. If you don¡¯t want your 5%, you need but say and I¡¯ll not bother coming round again.¡±

    A deep, dark fire began to burn within Harald¡¯s core. ¡°You¡¯re a thief and a bully. Fuck you and your 5%. You can keep the Zenith Tide I invested in you four. I¡¯ll consider that the cost of my learning more about the world. But you owe me a Horizon¡¯s Whisper.¡±

    ¡°Well.¡± Yeoric crossed his arms over his broad chest and stared at Harald, bemused. ¡°That was part of the upfront investment in our team. As is written in the official charter.¡±

    ¡°I saw. A clever forgery. But I don¡¯t care what you call it. Give me my money.¡±

    Yeoric¡¯s brows lowered, and the air around them grew thick with tension as he leaned forward the meet Harald¡¯s glare full on. ¡°Make me.¡±

    Sam¡¯s agitation was obvious; at any moment she might try to interpose, to diffuse the situation. Harald held Yeoric¡¯s stare. Once he might have blinked, looked away, backed off.

    But no longer.

    ¡°How about a wager, then?¡± He smiled. ¡°In two months¡¯ time we¡¯ll have ourselves a duel. First to submit or be rendered unconscious. If I win, you¡¯ll both return my Horizon¡¯s Whisper and pay me a second as an apology. If I lose, I¡¯ll pay you a second and never mention it again.¡±

    Yeoric¡¯s brows raised. ¡°You? You want to fight me in an official duel?¡±

    Sam¡¯s agitation increased, but she thankfully bit her tongue.

    ¡°That¡¯s right. Harald raised his chin. ¡°What do you say, big man? Or are you only comfortable in sucker punching your opponents when they¡¯re not ready?¡±

    ¡°Oh ho, that¡¯s rich.¡± Yeoric placed his hand on Harald¡¯s shoulder and began to squeeze. ¡°I¡¯ll gladly fight you, Harald. Two months¡¯ time it is. But if you step into that dueling ring with me, you¡¯ll be getting no quarter, you understand?¡±

    The man¡¯s grip was iron-strong, but Harald kept his pain from showing. ¡°That goes both ways.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re amazing.¡± Yeoric looked to Sam. ¡°I don¡¯t know who you are, but you should tell your friend here to not pretend to be an adult. He¡¯s going to get very badly hurt.¡±

    Sam stepped up alongside Harald. ¡°Get your hand off my master, or I¡¯ll break your wrist.¡±

    ¡°Will you now? Well, the little kitten has fangs. How cute.¡± Yeoric released his punishing grip and dusted off Harald¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Two months. You do realize, don¡¯t you Harald, that there¡¯s a death clause in our contract? That if you die your 5% and all claims on your investment are forfeit?¡± Yeoric smiled. ¡°I¡¯m just saying.¡±

    ¡°Get the hell off my property,¡± said Harald coldly.

    ¡°Gladly.¡± Yeoric inclined his head to Sam. ¡°I wish you and I had met under other circumstances.¡± Then he shook his head at Harald. ¡°And I¡¯m genuinely sorry that it has come to this. Ah well. I¡¯ll be in touch.¡±

    And with that he lightly jogged down the steps and strode down the driveway, whistling jauntily.

    Harald watched him go, hatred burning in his gut. Once the raider was gone from sight, however, he glanced sidelong at Sam. ¡°Master? I thought we were past that.¡±

    ¡°Old habits die hard.¡± She grimaced then turned to glare at him. ¡°But Harald. What the hell did you just do? Two months? That¡¯s¡­ that¡¯s impossible!¡±

    Harald passed his hand over his shorn hair. ¡°Maybe for some. For me?¡± He felt a quiet knot of absolute conviction form within his chest. ¡°It¡¯s simply motivation.¡±

 Chapter 12

    Their day, however, had just begun. After grabbing a drink of cold water from the well and a piece of fruit from the pantry, Sam led Harald down into his father¡¯s old gym that was located in the basement level.

    For a couple of months Harald had made his way down here regularly. At first it had creeped him out. He associated the cold, damp room deep underground with his father¡¯s mysterious arts; a few times as a child he¡¯d crept down here to watch his father train, and the intensity he¡¯d seen in the man¡¯s eyes, the savagery of his cries and the brutality of his strength had terrified him.

    That¡¯s not my father, he clearly remembered thinking. That¡¯s a demon.

    But habit renders even the most frightening of places mundane, and soon Harald had come to dread the gymnasium not for its traumatic memories but for the painful ordeal he¡¯d suffer there every day.

    Sam and Harald removed their armor and hung it up on armatures set by the entrance archway.

    ¡°Now that I think about it,¡± said Harald, doing his best to limber up, ¡°this place always was too clean. I should have realized you were sneaking down here and using the equipment.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s a lot you should have noticed,¡± agreed Sam. She wore a simple white shirt and leather breeches, and it was the first time he¡¯d ever seen her not wearing either armor or her maid¡¯s uniform. Only now did he appreciate just how in shape she was. Her arms were lean and defined, her body wiry and strong, her legs shapely and muscled. Unaware of his stare, she repinned her blonde braid and strode into the large room. ¡°Let¡¯s see how much you recall.¡±

    The room was cavernous. His father had taken little interest in most of the manor, but directed a prized group of dwarven architects and miners to remodel this section of the basement to his specifications. As such, the ceiling was easily some eight yards overhead, and held in place by massive beams of petrified wood, with a horizontal ladder running down the room¡¯s length suspended only three yards above the ground. The floor was of polished stone, but most of it was covered by a large woven mat of hardy fibers that seemed to have absorbed years of sweat and blood without complaint.

    Along one wall were training dummies mounted on stands, each with a different set of faded circles and targets painted on their leather frames. The very last dummy was little more than broken wood and torn leather and stuffing, however; his father had destroyed it on one of his last nights in the manor before disappearing.

    The back of the room was dominated by weights imported from Marheim, along with a thick rope that hung from the ceiling. The knights from the north were infamous for their strength and durability, and it was seen as a mark of pride for them to wear the heaviest possible plate armor into battle. His father had crewed with one such early in his career, Sir Vasteim, and from him picked up the practice of resistance training.

    The other wall sported practice weapons on racks bolted to the stone, along with strange training implements like hanging bags filled with sand, small, horse vaults, and a wooden mannequin his father had named Gustav in order to tease Harald, and whose many segmented arms would rotate and strike back at the trainee as it received blows.

    ¡°I never commented on your training regime before,¡± said Sam, turning so that she walked backwards onto the matt. ¡°But it wasn¡¯t¡­ well.¡±

    ¡°Efficient?¡± Harald walked after her. The place had a very distinct smell, though it was greatly faded now; old sweat, mineral dampness, the herbal smell of the matt, the heavily waxed wood of Gustav the mannequin. ¡°Systematic? Smart?¡±

    Sam grimaced. ¡°Something along those lines. I read your training journal. You¡­ sort of did whatever felt right on any given day?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a charitable way to put it.¡± Harald frowned at the weights resting on the floor. ¡°I¡¯d say I did the best I could, but I don¡¯t even think that¡¯s true.¡±

    ¡°Well. Since a lot of the gear down here is Marheim equipment, I made the effort of buying some Marheim training manuals.¡±

    Harald rolled his eyes. ¡°Of course you did.¡±

    Sam put her hand on her hips and stared at him.

    ¡°I mean,¡± said Harald hurriedly, ¡°that¡¯s delightful, I am most enthused, please, Samantha, tell me more.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m going to make you pay for that,¡± she said with a grin. ¡°But fine. I¡¯ll just run you through my standard exercise routine. If a gentle young maid like myself can do it, a big man like you should have no trouble, should you?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m going to die,¡± croaked Harald.

    Sam dragged the six horse vaults away from the wall and set them at regular intervals down one side of the room. Each was about four and a half feet tall, with a wooden body wrapped in thick leather set upon four splayed wooden legs.

    This done, she went to the back wall and dragged over a heavy duffel bag that looked to be filled with sand.

    ¡°There,¡± she said, dropping it at the edge of the mat. ¡°The first exercise is simple. Consider it a warm-up. We¡¯ll start side by side. Come here.¡±

    Harald limped over, already feeling miserable.

    ¡°One of us will carry the sand bag to the far end of the room, while the other makes their way there by leaping over the horse vaults. The bag weighs about sixty pounds. Whomever makes it to the far end first wins. The loser¡­ let¡¯s see. The loser has to drop and do a set of ten push-ups. Nice and easy. Ready?¡±

    The far end of the room no longer looked a thirty yards away, but rather a hundred. ¡°All right,¡± said Harald without enthusiasm.

    Sam grinned, crouched by the sandbag, and took hold of the two heavy straps sewn atop it. ¡°Ready? On your mark¡ªget set¡ªgo!¡±

    For a second Harald just stared, mesmerized, as Sam hefted the heavy bag. She rocked back even as she hauled up, the muscles in her shoulders and bicep sharply delineated, and then she got her shoulder under it and powered up to standing.

    It was only when she started staggering forward that he woke up and rushed to his first vault.

    Ideally he knew he should have simply placed both hands on it and vaulted over. It was a horse vault, after all. But instead he jumped and landed on his stomach, grunting as he did. For a moment he seesawed back and forth, and then he toppled forward and crashed to the floor.

    He rolled over, scrambled to his feet, and found that his legs were still jellied from the morning run. Grunting again he ran to the second and repeated the maneuver.

    It only got less graceful.

    By the time he reached the fifth he couldn¡¯t leap high enough to flop over it, so he backed away, panting, and fought to catch his breath, hands on his knees.

    Sam had already reached the far end of the room and was waiting, arms crossed, eyebrow raised.

    ¡°Sadist,¡± Harald rasped, then tried again.

    He managed to swarm over the fifth, but it took him a good two minutes to get over the last horse. When finally he crawled off the mat and level with Sam, he felt both humiliated and nauseous.

    ¡°Ten push-ups,¡± said Sam, her voice pure business.

    ¡°Yeah, yeah.¡± Harald managed three before his arms gave out. Over the next minute he slowly squeezed out the remaining seven, only for Sam to kick the sand bag. ¡°All yours.¡±

    Heaving for breath, he stood, swayed, and moved to the bag. ¡°This thing is big enough to hide a body in.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s why they call it a corpse bag in Marheim.¡± Sam swung her arms back and forth in exaggerated self-hugs, then glanced at him. ¡°Three. Two. One. Go!¡±

    If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    Harald didn¡¯t even bend to pick up the bag. Instead he just watched as Sam ran lightly to the first horse and vaulted neatly over it. She made it look simple, elegant, effortless. Both hands on its back, legs swung up together and to the side, a moment where she just floated through the air, and then she was down on the far side and moving to the next.

    ¡°Damn it,¡± he hissed, but the sight of her impressive athletic abilities spurred him on. He would get better. Stronger. Faster.

    Starting today.

    Crouching, he sought to duplicate her lifting maneuver, and nearly popped a blood vessel doing so. The bag was immensely heavy, and his Strength of 6 was barely up to the task. For a terrible few seconds he simply agonized, the bag drawn up before him, leaning back to offset the weight, then somehow he stood.

    But he failed to generate enough momentum to get it up and onto his shoulder. Instead he just clutched it to his chest as if he were holding a log, arms wrapped beneath it, and seeing red he set to desperately staggering forward.

    He got halfway before his arms gave out.

    The urge to collapse was strong.

    But instead he crouched before the bag, grabbed its straps with his jellied fingers, and heaved.

    The bag wouldn¡¯t budge.

    Sure the straps went taut, but he couldn¡¯t get it up off the ground. He was wheezing, sweating, and the world had narrowed to a tunnel.

    Then Sam was there, crouching before him, and together they hefted the bag off the ground. She helped him raise it all the way up and onto his shoulder, and he staggered and nearly went down beneath the weight. But she propped him up, helped him steady, and then pushed him forward so that he stumbled the rest of the way.

    When he reached the far side of the room he didn¡¯t drop the bag, but just collapsed with it to the mat. He rolled over onto his back and blinked up at the ceiling, blinking away the sweat, breath whistling in his tightened lungs.

    Sam squatted next to him. ¡°Good. You made it there and back again.¡±

    ¡°I¡­ just need¡­ a moment.¡±

    ¡°Take a minute. We¡¯re going to change this up.¡±

    When Harald finally managed to sit up, he saw that Sam had pulled out a weighted vest from the supply cupboard as well as a sandbag half the size of the corpse bag.

    ¡°Let¡¯s ease things up,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯ll wear the vest, and you do the lighter bag. That, and you do every other horse.¡±

    Harald went to protest, but Sam shook her head. ¡°No arguing. Strength training is progressive. In Marheim they call it putting a stone in the bucket. Their greatest knight, Sir Isenhardus, is said to have become the strongest man to ever live by that method. He would put a milkmaid¡¯s bucket yoke over his shoulders, and each day he put a new pebble in each bucket. At first it was as light as a breeze, but after a month it became work, and after six he thought he would collapse. But he kept at it, and after a year he was carrying as much weight as four full grown men. He simply grew stronger as he put more stones in the bucket.¡±

    Harald grimaced. ¡°You¡¯re saying I need to start with an empty bucket.¡±

    ¡°Not quite.¡± Sam¡¯s smile was sympathetic. ¡°But you need to give yourself room to grow. Your Strength is just 6, right? There¡¯s no sense in pretending it¡¯s 10.¡±

    ¡°Fair.¡± Harald fought the urge to ask, but couldn¡¯t resist. ¡°What do you think Yeoric¡¯s Strength is?¡±

    ¡°Hmm.¡± Sam¡¯s expression turned grim. ¡°Hard to say. But probably somewhere between 12 to 14?¡±

    Harald had known that, but hearing it spoken out loud drove the reality of what he¡¯d committed himself to home. ¡°All right. Time to get to work.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll do four more laps,¡± said Sam, rising to her feet and pulling on her weighted vest. ¡°Then we¡¯ll do ladder crossings.¡±

    ¡°You mean¡­?¡± Harald pointed at the ladder that was bolted to the ceiling.

    ¡°Correct. You pull yourself along beneath them, hand over hand. In Marheim they do it in full plate armor. Let¡¯s see how far you can go in a shirt.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡± Harald stared up at the ladder. ¡°I always wondered what it was for.¡±

    ¡°Then we¡¯ll do a rope climb, and finish with lifting some of the weights. That should be good for a first day.¡±

    Harald nodded sharply and pulled himself to his feet. ¡°Yes.¡± He wanted to joke, to deflect how he felt, to hide behind humor. But all it took was seeing Yeoric¡¯s face before his own to sober him up.

    ¡°But Harald.¡± Sam became tentative. ¡°Two months¡­ there¡¯s a limit to how fast the body can grow. In Marheim they call it ¡®burning down the house¡¯. Exercise is like setting your house on fire, ruining it. But sleep and rest and food are when the workers come and repair your home, build it back bigger and better and stronger. You can¡¯t just exercise all the time. You need to rest, and in two months¡­¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll make it work.¡±

    Sam stared at him, and suddenly her helpless anger shone through, her emotion bright and bleak.

    ¡°Hey, I really will.¡± Harald wiped the sweat from his brow.

    Sam shook her head. ¡°I should have stopped you. But I¡¯m still so used to playing the majordomo¡­ Harald, you can¡¯t beat Yeoric in two months. You just can¡¯t. I pushed you just now to lift and vault far more than you should have been able to because¡­ I don¡¯t know. I hoped you¡¯d pull off a miracle. Be able to suddenly grow faster than was possible. But¡­ I¡¯ve been training for several years now. I know how quickly the body responds. You have to get out of this duel. And you don¡¯t even know how to wield a sword.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll see.¡± And to his surprise, Harald didn¡¯t feel the panic and fear he expected to. Instead, he felt a savage calm, an unyielding determination. ¡°Whatever Vorakhar did to me, it¡¯s not normal. This Demon Seed, my new Soul, my Divine Rank¡­ I¡¯m not saying it¡¯s a guarantee, but I don¡¯t feel afraid. You just keep pushing me, and I promise you, I¡¯ll keep up.¡±

    Sam clearly didn¡¯t believe him, but she finished buttoning up the weighted vest. ¡°I guess we¡¯ll see.¡±

    ¡°One way or another.¡± He crouched by the smaller bag and grabbed the straps. ¡°Ready?¡±

    ¡°Ready,¡± smiled Sam, but the expression was at once sad and heart broken.

    ¡°Set. Go!¡± And Harald rocked back on his heels and hauled the bag up. It was half the weight of the other, and far more manageable.

    Body weak, muscles protesting, he set off across the hall. His knees were unsteady, his lungs labored, but he kept his gaze on the far wall.

    To his side Sam set to vaulting again with the same ease as before, as if she weren¡¯t wearing a weighted vest at all.

    But Harald kept his gaze focused, and this time he leaned forward. He fought the discomfort, he attacked it like it were his enemy. Toughen up, you sorry bastard. You¡¯ve lounged about and taken it easy your whole life. Now you need to get going. No excuses. One foot, next foot, get there, just keep moving, don¡¯t stop, go go go!

    He hit the far end of the room at a quick clip, but Sam was already there, puffing for breath.

    Harald dropped and forced out ten painful push-ups, then, gorge rising, stood. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±

    He swarmed over the vaults, climbing every second one, and still Sam beat him.

    He dropped and did another agonizing ten push-ups.

    ¡°Water break?¡± asked Sam.

    ¡°Go ahead,¡± he grinned. ¡°But that¡¯s on your time.¡±

    He hefted the small bag and set off. And as he ran, something strange happened to him. The discomfort, the pain, the weakness, it started to feel¡­ good.

    Not pleasurable. But it was an affirmation. An affirmation that he was alive. That he was pushing himself. That he was testing his limits. The more his body ached, the more his side burned with a new stitch, the more his muscles clamored for rest, the more present he felt. The tighter his focus became.

    And again, he realized that the body¡¯s job was to protest and stop him from pushing too far. It was like a cautious carriage driver who pulled back on the horses¡¯ reins way too quickly at the sight of an accident far up ahead.

    His body wanted to protect him, but in doing so, it prevented him from growing.

    He could change that.

    He could push past its warnings.

    He could show them for the false limitations that they were.

    So he powered through to the end of the room, and this time Sam barely managed to get there before he did.

    Without a word he dumped the bag and dropped to do the ten push-ups. His arms shook, his breath rasped in his throat, but he found that the faster he did the push-ups, the easier they became.

    Reeling, sweating profusely, he stood. ¡°Ready?¡±

    Sam was watching him with concern. ¡°Don¡¯t hurt yourself, Harald. We¡¯ve two months to go.¡±

    ¡°There is no tomorrow,¡± he rasped, clapped his hands together three times, and ran at the vaults.

    He leaped up and clambered over the first. Turned his shoulder and fell. Hit the mat hard, rolled, got up.

    His stomach was trying to climb up his throat, his mouth was thick with saliva, his mind was reeling.

    But he staggered around the second vault and tackled the third. Up and over, down and bam into the matt. For a second he just lay on his side, and then he growled and pushed himself up. Swayed, caught his balance, and ran to the fifth vault.

    His jump was too weak. He slid back off it. Gasping, he backed up, stared at the vault, and summoned everything he had. He ran forward on wobbly legs and slammed into the vault. The four legs skidded on the mat then caught. He wrestled his way up, turned, dropped, and came up on all fours.

    No time to stand. Sam was pounding up the hall, the corpse bag slung over her shoulders.

    Cursing, heaving, Harald lunged forward on all fours and crawled off the matt. He collapsed onto his side, then, arms moving of their own accord, he pushed himself up, sweat stinging his eyes.

    Only to see Sam step off the map a second later.

    ¡°Ten,¡± wheezed Harald. Then, not wanting to speak from the floor, he marshaled the last of his strength and willed himself to rise. Piece by piece, effort by effort, he rose, till at the very last he straightened and raised his chin and stared at Sam.

    ¡°Ten¡­ push-ups,¡± he rasped.

    Sam shrugged the huge bag off her shoulders. It hit the ground with a solid CRUMP and then she swung her arms, loosening her shoulders. For a moment she just held his gaze, eyes bright, and then she snapped off a military salute and grinned. ¡°Yes, sir!¡±

    And dropped to knock them out.

    It was pathetic. He¡¯d skipped half the vaults. She¡¯d been wearing a weighted vest and carrying the corpse bag.

    But by the Fallen Angel, it felt like a victory. Swaying, he enjoyed the moment of fierce exultation. At any point he could have quit. At any moment he could have eased up. Sure, maybe someone like Yeoric would have laughed at his celebrating this ¡®victory¡¯.

    But he¡¯d overcome something. Some inner barrier. Had tapped a source of strength, a living flame that had buoyed him farther and faster than he¡¯d have thought possible.

    And it was just the beginning.

    The sound of metallic stars ringing out against the void filled his mind:

    The Demon Seed Has Stirred

    Your Strength has risen from 6 to 7

    ¡°Fuck yes,¡± he hissed.

    ¡°What?¡± Sam finished her last push-up and sat back on her heels. ¡°What was that?¡±

    Harald grinned. ¡°Oh, nothing. Ready? It¡¯s time to go again.¡±

 Chapter 13

    That evening Harald felt wrecked. After finishing the workout in the basement, he¡¯d slept for a couple of hours, then gone for a two Bell walk around the park wearing the weight vest Sam had used for her workout.

    She¡¯d left to go run errands, and for a long time he¡¯d simply pushed himself to walk as quickly as he could on his burning legs. He carried a large waterskin over his shoulder from which he¡¯d continuously sip; he was sweating so much that Sam was worried he dehydrate, otherwise.

    With nothing to distract him on his walk, he pondered everything that had happened. Examined his window again and again, rereading the descriptions. Thought on his two rapid gains in as many days, how his Constitution and Strength had both bounced up a rank after a bout of extreme intensity.

    Was it the exercise itself that had raised his stats, or his mindset? Was there a difference, even, between the two? He¡¯d discovered that his body had reserves beyond what he¡¯d imagined; they¡¯d been there before, but he¡¯d been unwilling to tap them. Perhaps the mere act of flexing his will and learning to harness his true strength and resilience had caused his stats to reflect his new capacity? Perhaps, in a sense, he¡¯d always had those higher stats, but his window had merely reflected what he was willing to use?

    But he couldn¡¯t pretend his new Nature and Soul Ability played no part in this. Or the Demon Seed. If it was simply a question of harnessing latent, untapped potential, then why did the Seed ¡®stir¡¯ every time he did so?

    Was it parasitic, drawing strength from his motivation?

    Idly he considered returning to the dungeon to seek out Vorakhar, to ask him these questions. But that was a foolish notion. The finger amulet was gone, and with it his ability to reliably draw the demon¡¯s attention. Vorakhar was down in the 60th or so level of the dungeon; not only would Harald instantly die if he emerged onto one of those floors, but he didn¡¯t have the wealth to open the portal to that deep a level.

    Worse, to compound the stupidity of the idea, it was suicide to seek out a demon like Vorakhar. One encounter had already changed him completely. A second might lead to true damnation.

    Harald sighed, sipped from the waterskin, and trudged on. Each bench sang a siren song. Each shaded bank of grass beneath a tree invited him to rest. He lowered his head and ignored them all. His legs were so blasted that he walked unsteadily like a drunk, but walk he did. The contours of the Seasons Park path were already becoming familiar; that grouping of rose bushes, with the verdigrised statue of the Queenkiller reaching up to the star that would kill her; the swing bench under the sprawling moss oak; the small playground where nannies watched over the progeny of the wealthy as they played and ran and screamed.

    Finally the Seventh Bell rang, and Harald headed home. He was soaked again, his body aching and burning from the chafing of the weight vest and leather armor from before, and he¡¯d not eaten nearly enough to keep himself sharp.

    But over everything loomed Yeoric¡¯s grim smile. His satisfied sadism.

    Two months.

    What had felt expansive before now felt like so little time.

    Sam was already cooking in the kitchen when he got home. Too tired to head upstairs and shower, Harald simply ditched the weighted vest in the hallway and slumped in the chair to watch her chop vegetables and season the hearty beef stew she had simmering on the stove top.

    Sam glanced at him. ¡°You all right there, Harald?¡±

    ¡°Doing great.¡± He felt like he¡¯d been beaten for over an hour by wicked children with hammers. ¡°You know, you¡¯re free, right? You don¡¯t have to cook any more.¡±

    ¡°While technically true, I shudder at the thought of your preparing dinner.¡± She pushed a mass of chopped carrots into the pot. ¡°Also, I still need to eat. Also, I enjoy cooking. Also, I¡¯ve been doing this my whole life. It feels good to make food.¡±

    ¡°Also, also, also,¡± muttered Harald, propping his chin on the base of his palm. ¡°Any luck with your outing?¡±

    ¡°A representative from the Platinum Rose Auction House will be coming by soon to look at our inventory.¡± Sam stirred the pot, tasted the broth, and gave an approving nod. ¡°So that¡¯s good. Also, I stopped by Furthak¡¯s smithy to see if he could recommend a good but affordable weapon¡¯s instructor. Furthak was out, but his apprentice, Beorn, recommended a Blade Mentor called Eadwolf the Grey.¡±

    ¡°Eadwolf?¡± Harald roused himself. ¡°A Nihtscuan?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re sharp, you are.¡± Sam grinned at him. ¡°Yes. His being a foreigner means he can¡¯t charge too much, but Beorn said Furthak respects him mightily. But he doesn¡¯t take apprentices lightly. We¡¯ll have to impress him.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a start,¡± allowed Harald, though he didn¡¯t feel hopeful.

    ¡°Hello?¡± Vic¡¯s voice rang out from the entrance hall. ¡°A poor beleaguered traveler comes in search of solace and fine wine. Are the masters of this manor home?¡±

    Harald met Sam¡¯s gaze and then stood. ¡°I¡¯ll handle this.¡±

    Vic smiled brightly as Harald emerged into the entrance hall. He was freshly bathed, his burnished golden hair drawn back into a ponytail, his green eyes scintillating with good humor. Clad in a new doublet of green velvet patterned with gold diamonds, he looked positively rakish with his half-cloak of black wool and long-toed boots.

    ¡°Ah! The master himself!¡± Vic¡¯s eyes widened in alarm. ¡°Harald! Your hair!¡±

    Harald paused, suddenly self-conscious, and passed his palm over his stubble. ¡°Ah. Yes.¡±

    ¡°Is it a disease?¡± Vic drew closer, his expression one of horrified concern. ¡°Mange? Did a Seraphite of the Fallen Angel command you to shear yourself like a sheep as penance for some sin?¡±

    Harald smiled. ¡°No, nothing like that. I -¡±

    ¡°And you look terrible!¡± Vic circled Harald, his manner alarmed. ¡°The sweating sickness? Harald, have I entered a plague house? If so, I¡¯ll only ask for a single glass of wine before fleeing for my life.¡±

    ¡°No!¡± Harald couldn¡¯t help but laugh. ¡°Vic! Let me talk.¡±

    ¡°I am all ears.¡± Vic stopped before him, his expression dubious, his brow furrowed. ¡°Though even my ears are horrified and alarmed by your appearance.¡±

    ¡°I had Sam cut my hair. Because I wanted her to. I was tired of my locks. They were¡­¡± Harald hesitated, trying to figure out how to express himself. ¡°They were childish.¡±

    ¡°Childish.¡± Vic considered. ¡°Evernessa will be heartbroken.¡±

    ¡°That I doubt.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t underestimate your roguish charm. But the sweating? A fever? Or have you just emerged from a boiling bath and decided not to bother with a towel?¡±

    ¡°I went out for a long walk.¡±

    ¡°A long walk.¡± Vic crossed his arms. ¡°You walked to the point of exhaustion?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡± Harald suddenly felt tired. ¡°I did. Look, come have a glass in the kitchen and I¡¯ll tell you all about it.¡±

    ¡°Lead on, good sir. You¡¯re finally saying something intelligible.¡±

    They entered the kitchen, where Sam glanced over her shoulder with a hard gaze at Vic. She wasn¡¯t wearing her armor, which was a relief, but was clad in regular clothing.

    ¡°Um, Harald?¡± Vic glided over to a chair while whispering conspiratorially. ¡°Your hired help is most artlessly dressed.¡±

    ¡°The hired help,¡± said Sam, turning to glare at him, ¡°is fully capable of tossing you out on your ear, Victor.¡±

    ¡°The hired help,¡± continued Vic in his stage whisper, ¡°has grown alarmingly bold and insulting.¡±

    ¡°Peace!¡± Harald laughed again and sat down. ¡°Sam is no longer oathbound. I freed her yesterday. She¡¯s her own woman, and it¡¯s long overdue.¡±

    Vic froze, his expression stunned, and then turned to consider Sam again. ¡°You¡¯re serious?¡±

    Sam placed her fists on her hips and stared defiantly at him.

    ¡°Well.¡± Vic leaned back in his chair. ¡°Does this mean you won¡¯t fetch us the wine, Sam? What if I ask nicely?¡±

    ¡°Go ahead and ask, Vic.¡± Sam smiled sweetly. ¡°See what happens.¡±

    ¡°Wonders never cease. But this leaves us at a loss. Who, then, will fetch the wine? Shall I send for the city watch so that they can aid us?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll get it,¡± said Harald, rising heavily. ¡°Hold on.¡±

    Descending the stairs to the wine cellar was painful. Harald leaned heavily on the railing, his legs almost giving out, and grabbed the first dusty bottle he found on the mostly denuded wine racks. He returned, grimacing and scowling, to enter a frosty silence. Sam was stirring the pot, while Vic¡¯s head was canted to one side as he studied her posterior with unabashed appreciation.

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    ¡°Vic.¡± Harald grabbed a wine bottle opener and sat heavily. ¡°Eyes.¡±

    ¡°Hmm?¡± Vic straightened. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡±

    Harald set to opening the bottle. ¡°Mind your manners.¡±

    ¡°But it¡¯s my understanding that Sam¡¯s been liberated. And I¡¯m accustomed to ogling gorgeous young women in possession of their own free will. Even better if they¡¯re impressionable and flattered by my attention.¡±

    Sam drew a butcher¡¯s knife from the cutting block. ¡°Harald, permission to cut off his ear?¡±

    Vic grinned. ¡°Come at me, Sam. I¡¯ve no fear of tussling.¡±

    Harald drew the cork out with a pop and set to pouring a glass. ¡°Vic, your stay is going to be a short one if you don¡¯t behave.¡±

    ¡°Very well, very well.¡± Vic took up the glass and inhaled deeply. ¡°You¡¯ve successfully bribed me with this¡­ is it a Grand Vellus? Don¡¯t tell me.¡± He sipped, swished, closed his eyes. ¡°Yes, a Grand Vellus, say, twenty years old? 778?¡±

    ¡°He saw the label,¡± said Sam dryly.

    ¡°I¡¯m illiterate,¡± protested Vic. ¡°But regardless. Harald. What the hell has come over you?¡±

    Harald poured his own glass, expression grim. How to even begin explaining?

    Vic watched him, eyes narrowed, sipping from his wine as he somehow managed to lounge in the kitchen chair with the suppleness of a cat.

    ¡°Remember my dungeon raid?¡±

    ¡°How could I forget? Wait. Is that behind all this? You¡¯ve cut your hair and sworn a martial oath?¡±

    ¡°Hardly.¡± Harald sighed. ¡°They stabbed me in the back, Vic.¡± And he told him in broad strokes what had happened.

    Vic sat up, his languorous posturing forgotten as his eyes widened.

    ¡°So I entered the dungeon myself,¡± finished Harald. ¡°Used the Humble Petitioner¡¯s line. It was a fiasco down there. I nearly died, and emerged an hour or so later with a single Copper Moon for my troubles.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re serious?¡± Vic¡¯s tone was, at any rate. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you tell me, Harald?¡±

    ¡°I needed to collect myself. And you and the gang have never been¡­ I don¡¯t know how to say it.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re your friends, Harry-boy.¡± Vic leaned forward. ¡°This Yeoric. Is he registered at the Free Company?¡±

    Sam glanced over her shoulder. ¡°You know about them?¡±

    ¡°Darling, I was a member till I came to my senses.¡±

    ¡°You?¡± Sam turned all the way now and regarded him. ¡°You were a dungeon raider?¡±

    ¡°Oh Sam.¡± Vic¡¯s tone was pitying. ¡°You know nothing but pots and brooms. What makes you think you know anything about me?¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t know, either,¡± said Harald. ¡°When was this?¡±

    Vic sighed and sank back into his chair. ¡°Oh, two years ago. Evernessa convinced me to join a Free Company mission to the 15th level.¡± He waved a hand airily. ¡°Honestly, it was a mistake. The pay was criminal. But answer my question: is this Yeoric registered there?¡±

    ¡°He was, yes.¡± Harald considered his friend in a new light. ¡°But wait. I¡¯m sorry. You¡¯re a raider?¡±

    ¡°No, Harald. I am first and foremost myself, Victor Carmine, a dissolute and charming wastrel.¡± He paused, considering. ¡°Then, next, I¡¯m probably a lecherous philanderer. After that, possibly, I¡¯d admit to being a purveyor of dungeon levels.¡±

    ¡°If you¡¯re not with the Free Company, who do you work for?¡± asked Harald. ¡°One of the Houses?¡±

    Vic pursed his lips. ¡°You¡¯re not going to let this go, are you? Harry-boy, it¡¯s been of no account what I do with my time since I met you. Must you now insist?¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t have to share if you don¡¯t want,¡± said Harry, raising his glass of wine. ¡°I¡¯m just¡­ surprised.¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s just say I¡¯m part of a select group of dilletantes who wield blades as Countess Sonora desires.¡± Vic waved his glass of wine dismissively. ¡°Which means most of the time I¡¯m left to my own devices.¡±

    ¡°Countess Sonora?¡± Harald could hardly believe it. ¡°As in, Countess Sonora of House Sonora?¡±

    ¡°The same.¡±

    Harald exchanged a stunned look with Sam.

    ¡°So this Yeoric was registered with the Free Company till he agreed to join your crew,¡± said Vic. ¡°And now he operates, ostensibly, under your writ, as registered with a doctored charter at the Flutic Mining Consortium?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± said Harald. ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°Because I still have friends at the Free Company.¡± Vic smiled slyly. ¡°And can probably convince them to get me a copy of his last registered window statistics. Because we are going to find him and get your scales back, are we not?¡±

    Harald felt a rush of warmth as he studied his wastrel friend. ¡°You¡¯d help me with that?¡±

    ¡°Harald!¡± Vic sat up, indignant. ¡°We¡¯ve known each other for years. What manner of friend do you think I am? Of course we will.¡±

    ¡°We?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll talk to Evernessa and the others.¡± Vic considered. ¡°They¡¯re part of this little thing I¡¯ve got going.¡±

    ¡°Wonders never cease,¡± said Sam. ¡°I thought you all were just a bunch of leeches.¡±

    ¡°Speak your mind, why don¡¯t you,¡± said Vic, though he didn¡¯t seem offended.

    ¡°Well, Yeoric came by this morning,¡± said Harald. ¡°He, ah, came to give me my 5% of the earnings. I demanded he return all my scales.¡±

    ¡°Bold move,¡± said Vic, sipping his wine. ¡°Did he laugh in your face?¡±

    ¡°He did. Which is why I challenged him to a duel.¡±

    Vic spat wine into his glass as he jerked forward. ¡°You what?!¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t look at me,¡± said Sam. ¡°I think it¡¯s suicide.¡±

    ¡°If I win, he returns my money and another Horizon¡¯s Whisper as compensation. If he wins, he keeps my money and I pay him another.¡±

    ¡°Which you have?¡± asked Vic.

    Harald glanced at Sam. ¡°Probably.¡±

    ¡°But it will wipe us out,¡± said Sam grimly. ¡°We¡¯re selling everything by auction as quickly as possible before we lose the house.¡±

    ¡°Lose the house?¡± Vic¡¯s brows went up even higher. ¡°Are matters as dire as all that?¡±

    ¡°Worse, probably.¡± Harald took another sip of the wine.

    ¡°The Fallen Angel sat on an inverted stool and span,¡± said Vic softly. ¡°Harald. I almost feel guilty for enjoying your hospitality as we¡¯ve done.¡± He considered. ¡°Almost. But never mind all that, you can¡¯t duel Yeoric. He sounds like a competent fighter.¡±

    ¡°He is,¡± said Sam, tone flat. ¡°I¡¯d guess his physical stats are in the low teens, and he¡¯s probably got several combat levels on him as well.¡±

    ¡°Harald.¡± Vic¡¯s stare was bewildered. ¡°What were you thinking?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m going to train hard,¡± said Harald stubbornly. ¡°I¡¯ve got two months.¡±

    ¡°Two months he says.¡± Vic looked mockingly over to Sam for support. ¡°Two months to, what, exactly? Darling, you¡¯ve got a heart of gold and little else. Last I recall you don¡¯t even have a class, do you?¡±

    Harald stared into his wine glass.

    ¡°Not only that,¡± said Sam, ¡°but Yeoric made it clear that accidents could happen during this duel. I don¡¯t think he¡¯ll be holding back.¡±

    ¡°The cheeky bastard,¡± said Vic, tone approving. ¡°It¡¯s probably what I would do. Seeing as they¡¯ve already doctored the charter, it would be easy to ensure that all rights are solidly his moving forward. Well. Let me think.¡±

    Harald glanced at his friend who sat back and tapped his lips.

    Sam fetched another slender log and slid it into the oven beneath the pot.

    ¡°I suppose we¡¯ll have to assassinate him,¡± said Vic at last. ¡°We¡¯ll bring the full crew to make sure there¡¯s no uncertainty about it. An unfortunate encounter at night in an alley, we¡¯ll steal his scales to make it look like a mugging, and then you¡¯re in the clear.¡±

    Sam glared at Vic. ¡°Murder?¡±

    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t look shocked. We murder him before he murders Harald. Pre-emptive murder. It¡¯s the most palatable kind.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± said Harald. ¡°I may sound crazy, but I challenged him for a reason. I want to be the one that beats him.¡±

    ¡°Hmm.¡± Vic eyed Harald dubiously. ¡°Well, it¡¯s been nice knowing you, I suppose.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t count me out,¡± said Harald. ¡°I may be crazy, but I¡¯m not an idiot. I¡¯m going to win this fight.¡±

    ¡°Uh huh,¡± said Vic, unconvinced. ¡°I think I understand. You¡¯re about to lose your ancestral home, you¡¯ve lost all your wealth, and your last attempt at salvaging your situation resulted in your being betrayed and robbed. You¡¯ve shorn your glorious locks, you even went so far as to eject me from your home, and you¡¯ve freed your oathbound servant so that her obligation can¡¯t be bestowed to a debtor. This sounds like suicide by duel.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not.¡± Almost Harald told him about Vorakhar, his new Endowment, his rapid raising of his stats. But for all he enjoyed Vic¡¯s company, he just didn¡¯t trust him. Mostly because he¡¯d just realized how little he¡¯d actually known about Vic after all this time. Like Sam, the majority of their relationship had revolved around Harald¡¯s own woes and grievances.

    Telling anybody that he¡¯d received an endowment from a demon was a death sentence if word got out.

    So instead he took a deep breath and leaned forward. ¡°Vic. Tell me true. What¡¯s your class and level?¡±

    Vic eyed him over the rim of his wineglass. It was a hard, speculative look, the kind Harald had only seen him give opponents at cards or other gambling ventures. Vic sipped his wine, then set his glass down.

    ¡°I¡¯m a Rapier Regent, Level 3.¡±

    Sam let out a low whistle, impressed.

    ¡°Rapier Regent?¡± Harald could hardly believe it. ¡°And 3rd level?!¡±

    Vic shrugged nonchalantly. ¡°I¡¯ve been told I¡¯ve wasted my potential in brothels and taverns. I did have a rather embarrassingly earnest period in my teens, however, where I took it quite seriously.¡±

    ¡°You can train us,¡± said Harald excitedly. ¡°You know more about blades then I could hope to learn in a year.¡±

    Vic leveled a flat stare at him. ¡°Only a single year?¡±

    ¡°Will you?¡± Harald pushed his glass aside. ¡°Two months. We¡¯ll pay you.¡±

    ¡°Pay me?¡± Vic set his glass down and raised both palms. ¡°Slow down there. This sounds like work.¡±

    Sam crossed her arms. ¡°I thought you were protesting just how good a friend you were.¡±

    ¡°True, but I live in two worlds, darling. In one I am Vic, the golden boy of charm and ease, quick to laugh and love and forgive. In the other, I am Countess Sonora¡¯s Rapier Regent, and that person is a far less amusing fellow.¡±

    ¡°I need your help, Vic.¡± Harald kept his voice level. ¡°I¡¯m going to fight Yeoric.¡±

    Vic pursed his lips. ¡°So you say. I¡¯m all for suicidal ventures, but only as long as they¡¯re fun. This promises to be incredibly depressing and with a guaranteed bad ending.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t know that. How about¡­ how about a trial period? You don¡¯t have to agree to the whole two months. One week. If at the end of that week you don¡¯t think I have any talent, or a chance in hell, I¡¯ll pay you¡­¡± He glanced at Sam for help.

    ¡°A Zenith Tide,¡± she blurted out. ¡°As long as you train me, too.¡±

    ¡°Oh, come on!¡± Vic sprang to his feet. ¡°You¡¯re asking Victor Carmine to teach swordplay to a maid?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m no longer a maid,¡± said Sam with a voice like iron.

    ¡°C¡¯mon, Vic.¡± Harald rose as well. ¡°You can¡­¡± He cast around for an inducement. ¡°You can have free reign of the wine cellar. You can live here, if you want. Treat the house like it¡¯s yours. And we¡¯ll pay you. One week. You decide if we continue, and I won¡¯t argue with your decision.¡±

    Vic grimaced. ¡°And in such manner is my kindness repaid.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve always claimed to be a good friend of his,¡± said Sam. ¡°Prove it.¡±

    Vic glanced from Harald to Sam, and then threw his arms up in defeat. ¡°Damn my sweet heart and docile nature! Very well. A week. Seven days. I¡¯ve nothing lined up, anyway, but I¡¯ll take you up on your offer. A Zenith Tide, free run of your cellar, and full run of your hospitality.¡± He paused. ¡°But what does that mean, exactly, if Sam is no longer your servant?¡±

    Sam spoke through gritted teeth. ¡°I¡¯ll ensure your stay is a pleasant one for that week alone.¡±

    Vic¡¯s smile turned devilish. ¡°Will you now?¡±

    Her eyes narrowed. ¡°Just try your luck and see what happens.¡±

    To which Vic laughed. ¡°No sensible woman can resist my charms! In one week I¡¯ll be barricading my door to keep you out at night. But very well. We start tomorrow morning. I was about to say at dawn, but that¡¯s inhumane. I¡¯ll move in, and you will promise to do whatever I say for as long as I am in charge of your lessons.¡±

    ¡°Agreed,¡± said Harald instantly.

    ¡°I¡­ within reason,¡± said Sam. ¡°And only so long as it pertains to training and combat.¡±

    ¡°Cautious lass,¡± said Vic approvingly. ¡°Harald, you¡¯ve much to learn from her.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t I know it,¡± said Harald, smiling ruefully.

    ¡°Then get your sleep!¡± Vic snatched up the freshly opened bottle. ¡°I¡¯ve a few affairs to get in order, but I¡¯ll be here tomorrow to make your lives living hell. Come the end of the week, you¡¯ll be begging me to leave you to Yeoric¡¯s tender mercies.¡±

    ¡°Somehow I doubt it,¡± said Harald, but stepped forward and extended his hand. ¡°Thanks, Vic.¡±

    Vic considered his hand then sighed and shook it. ¡°Just don¡¯t ask me to hug. This is already so saccharine that I feel sick.¡±

    ¡°No hugs,¡± agreed Harald.

    ¡°Then I¡¯ll be off. Sleep well, children. For come tomorrow you¡¯ll be treated like adults for the first time in your lives.¡±

    And with that, he strode off, drinking from the bottle, one hand raised in parting.

    ¡°Sword instructor acquired,¡± said Harald.

    Sam looked much less settled. ¡°I can¡¯t believe he¡¯s a Rapier Regent.¡±

    ¡°I can.¡± Harald¡¯s legs gave out and he collapsed into his chair. ¡°Now we just need to find out if he¡¯s a good trainer as well. Something tells me he will be.¡±

    ¡°One way to find out,¡± said Sam, turning back to the pot as she shook her head. ¡°May the Fallen Angel have mercy on our souls.¡±

 Chapter 14

    Vic showed up the next morning at Ninth Bell, a long, heavy bag slung over one shoulder.

    ¡°Alas!¡± His grin was as merciless as it was bright. ¡°From your expressions you seem foolishly intent on going through with this needless form of suffering. Your last chance, Harry-boy and Lady Head Maid; we could put an end to this nonsense and set forth in search of the perfect brunch.¡±

    Harald, still winded and worn out from his morning run, rose from the kitchen table and tossed the rag with which he¡¯d been wiping his face aside. ¡°We¡¯re ready to take this seriously if you are.¡±

    ¡°Oh, I¡¯ll take it seriously once we begin.¡± Vic unshouldered his bag and lowered it carefully to the floor. ¡°But I¡¯ve one last piece of information with which to dissuade you. Did you not find it suspicious that I left last night before garnering something to eat?¡±

    ¡°Yes?¡± Harald glanced uncertainly at Sam. ¡°I thought you were just rushing home so as to plan out the week in detail.¡±

    ¡°Ha,¡± said Vic. ¡°Humor! Essential in these dark days. No, I paid a friend at the Free Company a visit, and convinced her to go through the files in search of some crucial data.¡± He drew a crumpled sheet of paper from his doublet. ¡°Information that I then copied out, and have here.¡±

    ¡°Yeoric¡¯s window,¡± said Harald, reaching for it.

    ¡°Ah-ah!¡± Vic drew it back. ¡°Where are your manners, Harry? First you say thank you. You have no idea what torments I endured in order to persuade my informant to acquire this for us.¡±

    Sam snorted.

    Harald snatched the paper and spread it out on the table, Sam crowding in around him. Written in neat, black letters, were the following:

    Name: Yeoric Bronzel

    Soul Nature: Fury Sentinel

    Soul Rank: Uncommon

    Soul Ability: Barricade

    Class: Iron Vanguard 3

    Class Actives: Set in Stone, Thunderstrike, First to the Fray

    Class Passives: Revitalization, Shrug it Off

    Endowments: None

    Strength: 13

    Dexterity: 12

    Constitution: 14

    Ego: 8

    Presence: 8

    Thrones: 1/7 (Throne of Harmony)

    Spirit Scales: 13,202/100,000

    Artifacts: None

    Servitors: None

    ¡°It¡¯s not as bad as I¡¯d feared, to be honest,¡± said Vic, crossing his arms and leaning his hip against the table. ¡°Though to be honest, I¡¯m surprised you were able to hire him.¡± Vic frowned down at the text. ¡°Not exactly a push-over.¡±

    ¡°Wait,¡± said Sam, running from the room. ¡°I¡¯ll get the Brixman¡¯s!¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s gone mad?¡± asked Vic hopefully.

    Harald was trying to process his emotions. How could one feel relief and terror at the same time? Relief that his foe wasn¡¯t Level 4 or higher, that he hadn¡¯t Ascended to his second Throne, and that he¡¯d no Artifacts or Servitors.

    Terror, however, at the scope of his Actives and Passives, and the fact that his physical stats were nearly double his own.

    ¡°Brixman¡¯s Guide to Dungeon Classes,¡± said Harald, coming back to the moment. ¡°Dad owned the 788 edition.¡±

    ¡°Hmm.¡± Vic cast around, then pushed off the table to prowl over to the pots where some breakfast porridge was leftover. ¡°Fascinating.¡±

    A moment later Sam was back, clutching the thick book. She set it beside the parchment and quickly checked the index for Iron Vanguard.

    ¡°Page 47,¡± she muttered, turning and quickly finding the entry. ¡°Here. I knew I recognized it. It¡¯s actually pretty common. Let¡¯s see: The Iron Vanguard class, renowned for its indomitable presence on the battlefield, epitomizes the pinnacle of martial prowess and strategic defense. Characterized by their unmatched endurance and their ability to wield heavy armor and shields as extensions of their own bodies, Iron Vanguards serve as the bulwarks against which enemy assaults break. Their expertise lies in absorbing and deflecting attacks, controlling enemy movements, and creating opportunities for their comrades to strike. With a deep understanding of armor enchantments and defensive tactics, the Iron Vanguard excels in sustaining sieges, leading charges, and safeguarding key positions. The path of the Iron Vanguard is for those who embrace the creed of strength through resilience, making them the unassailable foundation upon which victories are built.¡±

    Harald pulled out a chair and sat. ¡°Great.¡±

    ¡°And here are the most common skills associated with the class.¡±

    Harald followed her finger as it ran down the list, stopping at each entry from Yeoric¡¯s sheet.

    Set in Stone: This skill transforms the Iron Vanguard into an immovable force, significantly increasing their defense and resistance to knockbacks or any form of displacement for a short duration. While active, the Iron Vanguard can anchor themselves to the ground, turning their stance into a bastion against which enemy attacks falter, providing critical protection for allies behind them.

    Thunderstrike: Thunderstrike allows the Iron Vanguard to channel the raw energy of the storm into their weapon, unleashing a devastating area-of-effect attack around them. This skill not only deals significant damage but also temporarily disorients enemies caught in the blast, reducing their speed and making them more susceptible to follow-up attacks.

    First to the Fray: Empowering the Iron Vanguard with increased movement speed and the first strike advantage, this skill propels them into the heart of battle. Upon activation, the Iron Vanguard gains temporary immunity to crowd control effects, ensuring they can breach enemy lines and disrupt formations, setting the stage for an allied assault.

    Revitalization: Revitalization is a testament to the Iron Vanguard''s enduring spirit, granting them gradual health regeneration over time. This passive skill is enhanced when the Iron Vanguard successfully blocks or absorbs damage, turning defense into a source of strength and enabling them to sustain their presence on the battlefield for extended periods.

    Shrug it Off: This skill embodies the Iron Vanguard''s resilience, reducing the duration of negative status effects and mitigating a percentage of incoming damage. "Shrug it Off" ensures that what would cripple others merely slows the Iron Vanguard, allowing them to maintain their defensive posture and protect their allies against overwhelming odds.

    Sam glanced worriedly at Harald, who fought to keep his spirits from slumping. Instead, he glanced over to Vic, who was rummaging through the pantry in search of something.

    ¡°So? What do you think? He¡¯s only Level 3, right? And while his stats are good, he¡¯s only got the one Ascended Throne, meaning he can¡¯t fund his Actives or keep all his Passives running at the same time.¡±

    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    ¡°Hmm?¡± Vic looked back at Harald, momentarily confused. ¡°Oh. No, you¡¯re dead meat.¡±

    ¡°Vic!¡± Sam¡¯s tone was sharp. ¡°Be serious.¡±

    ¡°But darling, I am.¡± Vic drew out a small dark bottle and held it up to the light. ¡°Hmm. Is this syrup? I can¡¯t stand to eat porridge without it being smothered in berries, syrup, and candied walnuts. But yes. Yeoric.¡± He pointed at the sheet. ¡°You¡¯re right. His sole Active Throne means his Actives and Passives will be relatively brief and weak, but given where you¡¯re at? That¡¯s an academic argument.¡±

    Harald took a deep breath and lowered his head. His body ached, ached in a profound way that he¡¯d never experienced before. It had been only a couple of days since he¡¯d started pushing himself, and no part of him was ready for this kind of strain.

    But the real ache was spiritual.

    Mental.

    ¡°Look.¡± Vic stepped over and placed a friendly hand on Harald¡¯s shoulder. ¡°I would normally never say this, but I¡¯m¡­ well. I¡¯m impressed. It¡¯s not often that I see someone decide to throw their life away based on misguided principles. You have other recourses. We can still assassinate this lout in a back alley, make it so that him and all your other problems disappear.¡±

    Vic lowered his face to try and meet Harald¡¯s gaze. ¡°If you want, we can even go through with this charade of training you for an entire week. It might show you how unprepared you are to go up against Yeoric. But it¡¯s good that you start facing reality and realize that this duel will at best set you back another Horizon atop the one you already lost, and at worst, well. I don¡¯t want to lose one of the few people in this world who still think I have a few redeeming qualities.¡±

    Harald could feel Sam¡¯s seething frustration, her growing anger with Vic, the tide that was about to burst and wash the other man away with insults and defiance.

    So he raised a hand to forestall her. ¡°Give me a moment, all right? I¡¯m going to¡­ I¡¯m going to think on this.¡±

    And he took up the parchment and left the kitchen. Walked out into the back garden, and crossed the wild lawn to sit pensively on the swing bench before the emerald pond.

    For awhile he didn¡¯t think. Didn¡¯t attempt to reason or figure out a position. Instead, he just sat with the truth.

    Yeoric was a Level 3 Iron Vanguard. His physical stats were double Harald¡¯s, and he could, at will, render himself an immovable object, unleashing a thunderous blow, move forward with unnatural speed, all the while healing himself continuously and shrugging off damage and negative status effects.

    There was no way around it. From where Harald was standing, Yeoric was an unbeatable threat.

    ¡°Damn it,¡± he hissed, and screwed up the parchment in his fist.

    He¡¯d wanted this so badly. It had made sense in the moment: to use Yeoric as a target, a goal to strive toward. A lethal lash with which to goad himself to impossible heights.

    But this? He didn¡¯t even have a class. He didn¡¯t have any Actives or Passives at all. He was almost 10,000 Scales away from Ascending his Throne, and had been celebrating raising his Strength from 6 to 7.

    Vic was right.

    He was dead meat.

    And yet.

    Harald glared at the point in the wild grass where he remembered standing as he¡¯d boasted to his mother.

    ¡°Mom! That¡¯s what I want to be. The strongest hero that ever lived. So when the biggest danger in the world shows up, I¡¯ll be the only one who can stop it!¡±

    If that had been his dream, how could he flinch from a Level 3 bully?

    Two months.

    He raised his gaze to stare pensively at the far garden wall and the trees that rose beyond it. Two months. Could he close the distance? Yeoric would spend that time doing the occasional dungeon delve with his crew and celebrating at the Burnished Goose.

    Could Harald push himself hard enough to gain a class, to Ascend his Throne, to raise his physical stats?

    Despite all reason, despite Vic¡¯s experience, despite his own common sense, something told him that he could.

    His Insatiable Void.

    Morose, he opened his window and studied the description:

    Insatiable Void: You are the aching heart of ambition, the howling hunger that yearns to consume the world. A child of darkness, you will always seek the light, but will destroy all that you pursue.

    He smirked. That rang true, at least. It didn¡¯t matter that Yeoric was miles ahead of him. He still wanted to catch up. He still wanted to prove himself. He wanted to face down the sadistic bully and force him to concede, to admit he was wrong, to pay him back what had been stolen.

    A fierce resolve crackled to life in his heart.

    Two months. If he trained three times as hard as anyone else, he could get six months¡¯ benefit out of that same amount of time.

    If his mind could force him to exceed his body¡¯s natural guardrails, then perhaps he could do it.

    And, perhaps, the Demon Seed would make that possible.

    Harald reached up to touch his brow. Could he bet on Vorakhar¡¯s Endowment? Would it lift him past what was humanly possible? And if so, what would that make him? What price would he be paying for such advancement?

    He saw again Yeoric¡¯s flat stare as the man pinned him to the ground. The contemptuous way Yeoric had squeezed his shoulder as he¡¯d mocked Harald to his face.

    Damn it.

    He wanted to try.

    No.

    He was going to do more than try.

    He was going to accomplish the impossible.

    Resolved, Harald stood and marched back up to the patio and entered the kitchen once more. Vic was happily spooning a mess of porridge and toppings into his mouth, chair propped on its rear two legs, boots crossed on the table. Sam was glaring at him with hate in her eyes.

    ¡°I¡¯ve reached a decision,¡± Harald said, tossing the paper on the tabletop. ¡°I want to continue as planned.¡±

    Vic raised an eyebrow. ¡°Are you mad?¡±

    ¡°Possibly.¡± Harald grinned, the expression uncomfortably feral. ¡°But I still want to try and win.¡±

    Sam crossed her arms. ¡°I¡¯ll help you train no matter what this oaf says.¡±

    ¡°Hmm.¡± Vic carefully licked his spoon, considered it, then tapped his bare chin with it. ¡°Well, good.¡±

    Harald frowned. ¡°Good?¡±

    ¡°If you could be so easily dissuaded by a little discouragement, then we¡¯d have no business getting started. But half the battle is refusing to give up, and that, dear Harry-boy, you have overcome.¡±

    Harald felt a jolt of hope. ¡°So you think I have a chance?¡±

    Vic snorted. ¡°Absolutely not. But now at least I¡¯m willing to sacrifice precious cavorting time with training you instead. A week, I believe we agreed? Or was it a day?¡±

    ¡°A week,¡± said Sam, tone flinty.

    ¡°Alas. Still, we might as well begin.¡± Vic dropped his feet off the table and stood. ¡°Carry my bag, you two. Let¡¯s go out into the backyard. You might as well be humiliated in the fresh air.¡±

    And with that, still eating from his bowl, Vic left the kitchen.

    ¡°This is going to be torture,¡± said Sam.

    ¡°Probably. But if he really is a Rapier Regent that¡¯s equal to Yeoric¡¯s level? It¡¯s our best bet.¡±

    Sam sighed and hefted Vic¡¯s bag. It was easily over a yard long, and contained what were probably swords.

    ¡°Oh,¡± Vic called over his shoulder. ¡°There¡¯s another bag in the entrance hall.¡±

    Harald jogged out and saw a large potato sack bulging with objects. This he hefted, finding it awkward to hold, and carried out into the sunlight of the back yard.

    As he and Sam deposited the bags on the grass by the base of the patio steps, they shared a look and grinned.

    She seemed to share Harald¡¯s own excitement; despite her irritation with Vic, she¡¯d spent as many years as Harald¡ªif not more¡ªwishing to learn the use of a weapon.

    Now here they were, about to learn for the very first time.

    Harald felt his exhaustion and aches fall away. The world felt brighter, the colors more vivid, the distant bird song more beautiful.

    There was nowhere else he¡¯d rather be.

    Vic came over, unbuckled his long bag, and drew forth a slender rapier in a black scabbard. Still munching his mouthful of porridge, he drew the blade with casual ease and tossed the scabbard aside as he moved to stand before them.

    ¡°A week. That¡¯s how long I have to test if you¡¯re worthy of suckling at my teat of knowledge.¡±

    ¡°By the angels,¡± muttered Sam.

    Vic considered the long, bright blade. It was slender as a needle, but had an edge; the hilt was swirling mass of steel beams that formed a basket that encased his hand.

    ¡°I¡¯ve thought about how to approach this week for an entire half hour.¡± He smiled at them. ¡°That¡¯s how long the ride here took from my garret. And no, Sam, you can¡¯t come visit me there. That wouldn¡¯t be professional, now that I¡¯m you¡¯re maestro.¡±

    Sam¡¯s shoulders sagged as she rolled her eyes.

    ¡°I am a Rapier Regent, the most sophisticated and sublime of all the martial classes. That¡¯s not an opinion, that¡¯s a fact. A Rapier Regent marries wit and devastatingly good looks with deadly speed, frighteningly fast reflexes, and the ability to snuff out another¡¯s life at a whim.¡±

    Vic raised his arm so that the rapier extended before him, slightly angled upward, its length glinting in the sun. ¡°To fight with a rapier requires control, speed, incredible reflexes, and a surprising amount of stamina.¡±

    With this he sank into a strange, forward leaning crouch. He took a half-dozen rapid steps forward, his rapier never wavering, feet crossing before each other, then lunged so deeply that his back leg was almost parallel to the floor, his front bent deeply at the knee. But in that lunge the point of his blade leaped forth another yard almost instantly.

    He recovered smoothly, not lingering, and quickly executed a series of cuts and thrusts, flowing seamlessly from one posture to another, always steady, always in control, his blade flickering forth like a tongue of flame.

    ¡°Even a thirty second fight can be taxing,¡± said Vic, rising at last to stand tall, blade resting on his shoulder. ¡°Your arm is constantly extended, and the full weight of the blade, while insignificant at first, constantly draws down upon your shoulder. Your thighs burn as you lunge and recover, as you parry and seek openings. Always you must keep yourself fully in control, ready to dart forward like a striking snake.¡±

    Harald tried not to look intimidated.

    ¡°Which,¡± said Vic with a lazy smile, ¡°is why I am not going to bother teaching you the rapier. Sam I could see profiting from this instruction, but you, Harry-boy? It would just be embarrassing.¡±

    Harald¡¯s cheeks burned. ¡°Then what do you suggest?¡±

    ¡°I was going to suggest a shovel, so that you can begin your duel by pro-actively digging your own grave, but I thought that might sound morbid. So, instead, we¡¯re going to use this.¡±

    And he strode over to the long bag, set his rapier down, and drew forth a large and magnificent looking sword, its hilt twice as long as the rapier¡¯s, its blade broad and tapering at the very end to a diamond point.

    ¡°This is a weapon fit for any brute, callow idiot, or out-of-shape noble¡¯s son.¡± Vic raised the blade and considered it, holding the hilt with both hands. Then he glanced past it at Sam and Harald both. ¡°Behold, my dears, the fucking longsword.¡±

 Chapter 15

    ¡°We¡¯ve seen longswords before,¡± said Sam dryly.

    Vic swung it about, the blade flashing in the sun, and then rested it on his shoulder. ¡°You see, this is my thinking. Sam, wine?¡±

    ¡°Fetch it yourself.¡±

    ¡°A shocking lack of respect for your instructor. Regardless, there is no earthly way that you¡¯ll catch up to Yeoric in terms of sheer physical fitness or actual sword technique. He¡¯s a Level 3 Iron Vanguard, but to you, Harald, he might as well be the Skull Harvester. There¡¯s no sense in pushing you into the dueling ring as promising novice who has made impressive yet limited gains. You need to enter the ring with a Class.¡±

    ¡°All right, yes.¡± Harald felt another frisson of excitement. ¡°But those are only awarded by the Fallen Angel after months if not years of dedication followed by a moment of singular exaltation.¡±

    ¡°True, but it¡¯s your only hope. Without a couple of Actives or Passives, you¡¯ll be as challenging to Yeoric as a slab of beef hung from a butcher¡¯s hook.¡±

    Harald dry swallowed.

    ¡°For about five minutes I considered how best to put you on the path to some rare and lethal Class. Something like the legendary Dreadnaught, say, or a vaunted Stormblade. But  again, we don¡¯t have time to faff about trying to convince the Fallen Angel you¡¯re worthy. No, what we need to do is simply lock you into a basic class, and then push that as hard as we can. A Warcleaver, say, or Flameguard.¡±

    Harald felt a spike of disappointment; he¡¯d always dreamed of reviving one of the lost classes, of being handed down a mythic class such as a Shadowstriker or a Darkslayer. But Vic was right.

    ¡°Hence the longsword.¡± Vic again considered the large blade. ¡°Deadly, simpler to learn, and less taxing on the body.¡±

    ¡°It looks heavier,¡± said Harald.

    ¡°You¡¯d be surprised. Its center of balance is close to the hilt, making it easy to wield. You can grip it with both hands instead of one, which is an enormous advantage for those who lack conditioning and training. Further, the basic guards are all easy to hold. Instead of extending your arm and sinking into a deep crouch, you can remain like this and be perfectly ready to fight.¡±

    And Vic demonstrated by standing straight, left foot forward, both set slightly wider than his shoulders, and the blade held directly vertical with its crossguard pressed where his shoulder met his chest.

    ¡°You¡¯ll need every advantage you can get against Yeoric,¡± said Vic. ¡°And while I¡¯m no expert in the longsword, I know enough about fighting with a blade to train you for a week. What is your Constitution again?¡±

    ¡°Six.¡±

    ¡°Six.¡± Vic made a face. ¡°The whores of the Kitty Kat Club wept.¡± He lowered his blade. ¡°Harald.¡±

    ¡°I know, I¡¯m working on it.¡±

    ¡°No amount of instruction will help if you¡¯re vomiting on your shoes within fifteen seconds of the duel beginning.¡±

    ¡°I know,¡± grated Harald. ¡°I said I¡¯m working on it.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not deaf. I just¡­¡± Vic shook his head despairingly. ¡°Your Strength? Your Dexterity?¡±

    ¡°7 and 6.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re as fearsome as an old woman. Still. We¡¯ll work with what we have. Sam? Wine?¡±

    ¡°The kitchen is that way.¡±

    ¡°How quickly the faithful hound becomes a wolf. Let me think.¡± Vic tapped his chin. ¡°All right. This is what your day will look like. A two hour morning run, or as close to one as you can approximate, starting at Sixth Bell.¡±

    ¡°Already doing that,¡± said Harald, trying not to feel proud.

    ¡°A light breakfast, then we¡¯ll work on sword forms for an hour, followed by another light refreshment¡ª¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m trying to lose weight,¡± cut in Harald, flushing.

    ¡°You need your strength if you¡¯re to learn. The weight will take care of itself. Now, don¡¯t interrupt. After your second meal, we¡¯ll give it a moment to settle, then you¡¯ll do your first Marheim training exercises, say for an hour and a half. Then a big, glorious lunch, entirely at your expense and of my choosing, and then nap.¡±

    ¡°Nap?¡± asked Sam.

    ¡°Napping is essential.¡± Vic pointed his blade at her. ¡°Napping is what sets us apart from common beasts -¡±

    ¡°Cats nap all the time,¡± protested Sam.

    ¡°- and allows our spirits to restore themselves and surge, upon awakening, to glory. So we nap, then you¡¯ll both go for a two hour walk, followed by a snack, a final hour of sword work and then a light bout of Marheim exercises before dinner. Understood?¡±

    ¡°Run, breakfast, sword forms, snack, Marheim exercises, lunch, nap, two hour walk, snack, sword work, Marheim exercises, dinner.¡± Sam glanced at Harald. ¡°That sounds like a lot. Harald¡¯s just gotten started.¡±

    ¡°I fully expect the walls to be redecorated with copious amounts of vomitus,¡± said Vic airily. ¡°But yes. If you can show me as much vigor and enthusiasm on the last day of the week as the first, I might consider finding you a proper longsword instructor. If, however, you¡¯ve slacked off to lie moaning and wheezing upon a fainting couch, then I shall collect my earnings and bid you both adieu.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s fine with me,¡± said Harald. ¡°I¡¯m not afraid.¡±

    ¡°That just shows how little you know.¡± Vic sighed dolorously. ¡°Let¡¯s do our hour of sword forms, then.¡± He gestured at the long bag. ¡°Fetch out two of the steel blades. Oh, but this feels like a waste.¡±

    Harald crouched by the bags, his legs weak, and saw that a dozen weapons filled it. Wooden blades, big heavy swords wrapped in black cloth, and two actual longswords of live steel.

    He drew them forth, and realized they were dull. Even the tip was stubby, though no doubt it would sink into a man if thrust hard enough.

    ¡°Yes, yes, practice blades. It would ruin dinner if you were bleeding all over the place.¡±

    Harald hefted the sword. It was surprisingly light, and its length was responsive; the center of gravity was indeed close to the hilt, making it easy to whisk the point back and forth.

    The blade with which he¡¯d ventured into the dungeon had been slightly smaller, its crossguard curved gently upward on either side, its pommel a large iron coin. Its hilt had been substantially shorter, as well.

    ¡°All right, let¡¯s begin with the most painful of basics.¡± Vic sighed and moved to stand next to them. ¡°This is how you don¡¯t hold your blade like a chair leg. One hand, your dominant hand, always goes flush against the crossguard, like so. If you ever see a man¡ªor, to be fair, a head maid¡ªholding a longsword bang in the middle of the hilt, you can relax, because they¡¯re an idiot. Your dominant hand right under the cross guard, and then you have a choice with your second. No, Harald. Don¡¯t grasp the pommel itself. Not unless you plan to unscrew it and throw it at your enemy to knock them out, which is, I¡¯ll admit, an excellent way to win a fight. You either grasp it just above the pommel, with a large gap between both hands, or in the center of the hilt, leaving no gap. Can you tell me what the difference between each grip does?¡±

    Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

    Sam and Harald both raised their hands.

    ¡°Actually, I don¡¯t care what you think, you¡¯re no doubt wrong and will waste my time.¡± Vic moved his grip so that there was a large gap between his fists. ¡°This allows for maximum dexterity with the blade. You can lever it as you desire, cutting rapidly to the sides and engaging in swordplay.¡± And he demonstrated by slashing to each side, recovering quickly. ¡°The closed grip, on the other hand, allows for more power. It¡¯s for great crushing blows, or attempts to break your opponent¡¯s guard.¡±

    Again he demonstrated.

    ¡°For now, do the dexterous grip. Yes, good, good, you can follow the most basic of instructions, I¡¯m pleased.¡±

    Vic¡¯s constant haranguing didn¡¯t phase Harald. Instead, he stared at this blade, realizing just how little he¡¯d gone into the dungeon knowing. He¡¯d never even considered how to hold a sword. Or that there might be different ways to different effects. He¡¯d simply gripped it, yes, like a chair leg, and swung it like a club at the rats.

    He was fascinated.

    ¡°Now!¡± Vic moved to face them. ¡°Let¡¯s begin with a basic blow. This will be amusing. Adopt my stance. Legs a little wider, Sam, good. Harald, deepen it a little, left foot forward. Fine, I suppose. Actually, let me ask a question: what is your single greatest priority in a sword fight?¡±

    ¡°To kill your foe,¡± said Sam.

    ¡°To not -¡±

    ¡°It was a rhetorical question,¡± snapped Vic. ¡°Never speak, never assume you know anything, or that I am remotely interested in your opinions while giving class. That is probably the only way we¡¯ll retain my good humor and interest in this charade. Your single greatest priority is to not die. Which influences how you fight. Don¡¯t get cut.¡±

    Harald nodded vigorously.

    ¡°I¡¯m serious,¡± said Vic more slowly. ¡°Don¡¯t get cut. That means your attacks are still prioritizing your safety. Don¡¯t get sloppy and present easy targets to your foe. For example, if I return to my Tower position.¡± And Vic brought the sword to vertical and pressed it against his chest again. ¡°Notice how I¡¯m standing. Everything is tucked in tight. My elbows aren¡¯t flaring out. My hands are protected. Everything is safe. Now, if I stand like this¡­¡±

    And Vic raised his elbow.

    ¡°Or put my hands forward.¡±

    Now he thrust the sword¡¯s hilt forward, the blade angled slightly back.

    ¡°A quick-witted foe will caress your offered body part with his blade and the fight will be over. Which brings me back to how to make a strike. Most idiots, the kind that will accost you in an alleyway or their wife¡¯s bedroom when they find you there to their horror, will swing a sword like this.¡±

    And Vic drew the blade all the way back behind him, then twisted his whole body and swung the sword slowly through the air, his shoulders and hips behind the blow.

    ¡°It¡¯s natural.¡± Vic did it again. ¡°Idiots and cuckholds swing swords like axes. The longsword is not an ax. It does not need all the strength in your body to kill a man. How defended am I while I swing the sword back like this?¡±

    And Vic paused, the blade behind him, biceps pressed against his chin. ¡°My head, my upper arms, my ribs, all are tempting targets. The fight will end right here.¡±

    Again he returned to his Tower stance, blade vertical, elbows tucked. ¡°Instead, you lead with your sword. Imagine that your blade is pulling forward of its own accord. Never do you lead with a part of your body. You thrust the sword forward. It will feel strange, you will be tempted to wind up for greater strength, but a longsword is perfectly capable of killing a man with a well placed, weaker blow. And the bonus?¡±

    Harald went to answer then clamped his jaw shut.

    ¡°The bonus,¡± continued Vic, ¡°is that you don¡¯t get cut. Your blade moves forward, leading with the edge, and then your body follows behind. You now think you understand, but you don¡¯t. In a real fight, you will no doubt still swing the sword like an ax, and die. Which is why I will now make you look like fools so that you may understand.¡±

    Sam glanced at Harald, her expression complex, but bit back whatever complaint she clearly wanted to make.

    ¡°What you¡¯re going to do,¡± said Vic, ¡°is swing your sword as hard as you can. Forget about form. Just don¡¯t move your feet. Left foot forward, just swing it as if you wanted to cut a tree in half.¡±

    ¡°Now?¡± asked Harald.

    ¡°No, tomorrow,¡± said Vic in a long suffering tone.

    Harald inhaled sharply, settled into the wide, left-footed stance, and drew the blade up and back. Then he swung the blade in a downward diagonal slash as hard as he could. The blade whooshed down clumsily, but such was the strength of the blow that it pulled Harald forward and into a stumble.

    ¡°Bravo!¡± Vic pretended to clap as he sank into a crouch. ¡°Sam?¡±

    She did the same, though Harald had to admit she had a natural grace and predatory look that he simply lacked. Her cut was vicious, and also twisted her forward and around into a stumble.

    ¡°Beautiful. Now. Did you feel that? How your blade pulled you forward? You didn¡¯t move and then swing. You swung and then moved. That is the essence of ensuring you don¡¯t get cut. Swing, and allow that swing to draw you after it. Did you feel the chain that pulled you from your shoulder down across to the other hip? That is what you want to emulate whenever you strike. The blade leads. You follow. Where the blade goes, you are protected.¡±

    Vic bounced to his feet. ¡°Now watch. This is wrong.¡± He brought the sword all the way back again, and then took a step forward, his entire front exposed, even as he swung the sword around in a great arc that swooshed through the air. ¡°It feels satisfying, but my body led, and I am dead. Instead.¡±

    He reset to his guard, then suddenly blurred forward. His blade leaped ahead of him, not winding back, just simply cleaving toward an imaginary enemy in a diagonal chop. Vic followed after, stepping as his blow landed, then immediately drew back.

    ¡°See my posture? Chest puffed out like a dandy at court. Shoulders back, arms low, elbows in. I don¡¯t lean forward and overextend, I don¡¯t lean back out of fear. My strength comes from my posture. Swing, step, then back. Now. You both do the same.¡±

    Harald felt thrilled.

    This was it.

    As elementary as the instruction might be, this was the key to everything. To fighting and surviving. To learning the art of the blade. It began right here, and his own near-death to the dire rats made every one of Vic¡¯s warnings visceral.

    He settled into his stance, blade up and vertical, and then tried a slow version of the attack. He shoved the sword forward, resisting the urge to draw it back like a wood ax, and then stepped in after.

    Vic walked around them, tutting and tsking.

    ¡°Shoulders back! Don¡¯t slouch, you look like a whipped dog. Chin up, Sam, don¡¯t watch your sword, you should know where it is. What are you waiting for, Harry-boy? When you strike you return, you don¡¯t linger close to your foe. Strike and back, strike and back! Chest out, Sam! Don¡¯t be shy, nobody¡¯s judging what your mother gave you. Good, swing, and back. Diagonal, not vertical. Follow the blade. Imagine it being drawn out of your hands by some powerful magnetic force. Good. Thrust then step. Thrust then step. Now, Sam, face me.¡±

    Harald¡¯s heart was pounding. Sheer excitement had made his fatigue and aches fade away. Moving to the side, he watched as Sam squared off against Vic.

    ¡°All that theory disappears the moment someone is swinging their sword at you,¡± said Vic. ¡°It¡¯s the same difference between practice kissing your reflection in the mirror to using the Venissar technique with a willing whore. Now, Sam, the exact same swing from the Tower guard, but aim to strike me. I¡¯ll strike back and parry. When I say ¡®cut¡¯, you swing.¡±

    Sam nodded sharply, her face pale, her knuckles white on the hilt.

    ¡°Relax, Sam. Breathe. Now: cut!¡±

    Sam stepped forward and swung. Vic moved and mirrored her attack, and their blades clanged.

    ¡°Terrible,¡± said Vic. ¡°You¡¯re leaning forward. Look at your stance, it¡¯s far too narrow. You stepped forward first, I could have slashed open your knee.¡± And he slid his blade down hers and swept it aside. ¡°Back.¡±

    Flushing, Sam returned to her stance, blade up, feet in the right posture.

    Vic stared at her, a careless smile curling the corner of his lips. ¡°Relax, Sam. You literally can¡¯t hurt me. Swing as if you mean to kill. Lead with the blade. Chest out, arms down, in your strength. Cut!¡±

    Sam leaped forward and let out a cry as she chopped at him, and Vic stepped in to meet her, parrying neatly.

    ¡°Better! But still shit. Your arms are straight and stiff like boards. Bend at the elbows. You¡¯re still leaning forward. Chest out! Shoulders back! No, do it now, feel the difference.¡±

    And Sam adjusted, puffing out her chest and squaring her shoulders.

    ¡°There,¡± said Vic, tone approving. ¡°See the difference in your strength. You¡¯re not fighting me with your wrists, but with your body. Arms a little lower. Now, push against my blade.¡±

    Sam frowned and did so, and the blades slithered against each other like metallic snakes.

    ¡°See the difference?¡±

    Sam nodded rapidly, then grinned with surprised delight.

    ¡°Again. Now. Cut!¡±

    Again and again their swords clanged together, until Sam was sweating, her shoulders rising and falling.

    ¡°Enough. Go collapse somewhere, you useless child.¡± Vic grinned. ¡°The excitement of live steel can make you feel as if you¡¯ve run a mile after just a few moments of sparring. It¡¯s why Constitution is so vital in a real fight. Nothing will arouse you more than a foe coming at your with a naked blade, intent on cutting you apart.¡±

    Vic considered.

    ¡°Well, almost nothing. Harald, step up.¡±

    Harald wiped his sweaty palms on his hips, and moved to stand across from Vic.

    Who settled into his stance, blade at the ready, his face callously amused, his expression cruel, contemptuous.

    Vic¡¯s sword gleamed.

    And Harald felt it. The rise in tension, his chest growing tight, his excitement, his nerves. The world seemed to narrow to just Vic, his blade, the moment that was about to come.

    ¡°There it is,¡± whispered Vic. ¡°The body responds to steel. Relax your grip, Harald, you¡¯re not throttling your snake. Check your stance. Good, shoulders back. Lead with your blade. Now, ready to try and kill me?¡±

    Harald did his best to put all the pieces together, but he felt jangly, loose, alarmed, all flushed and fevered with excitement and fear.

    ¡°Good.¡± Vic¡¯s smile never quite disappeared, though the gleam in his eye turned predatory. ¡°Now: cut!¡±

 Chapter 16

    The world narrowed down to Vic.

    Smiling, lethal Vic, his wastrel friend turned deadly swordsmen. Their blades gleamed in the morning sunlight, and the air had never felt more fresh, tasted more sweet.

    His pulse pounding in his ears, Harald slashed down with his blade.

    Only for Vic to slide forward, confident, at ease, and parry the blow cold.

    Steel rang on steel, but Harald felt off kilter, weak, uncertain.

    ¡°Terrible,¡± said Vic, his voice grave with disappointment. ¡°Look at your arms.¡±

    Harald glanced down. They were extended before him, almost locked out.

    ¡°That was the tiniest step I¡¯ve ever seen a grown man take,¡± said Vic, disengaging and stepping back. ¡°A quarter step. The rest you swung with your arms, as if you feared to get close. Come at me, Harald!¡±

    Harald stepped back, nervous and shook up. In the last second he¡¯d frozen, hesitated, not wanted to get in close. It was if natural instincts to avoid steel had taken over.

    A deep breath and he settled back in to the stance. Sword up. He rippled his fingers on the hilt, firming his grip.

    ¡°Elbow in,¡± said Vic.

    What? Oh, his elbow was pointing right at Vic. Harald pressed it in close.

    ¡°Exaggerate your stance. Wider, deeper.¡±

    Harald did so.

    ¡°Now, are you ready?¡± Vic¡¯s eyes gleamed. ¡°Cut!¡±

    Harald lunged forward and swung.

    Again their blades crashed, but this time Vic shoved Harald¡¯s sword away with ease. ¡°What are you cutting at, Harry-boy? Hmm? You here to slash at the air? Cut at me! My body, my face, at me! Not the air! If I¡¯d not moved you¡¯ve have stumbled over yourself and missed me by inches.¡±

    ¡°Right, right,¡± said Harald, flushing and returning to his spot. He didn¡¯t dare glance at Sam, who would no doubt be watching him in sympathy.

    ¡°Deepen your stance! Need I repeat myself till I go mad?¡±

    Harald grimaced and did so. Checked his elbow, puffed out his chest, squared his shoulders.

    ¡°Cut!¡±

    Again Harald stepped in and slashed, but this time Vic wasn¡¯t there¡ªhe smacked the flat of his blade against Harald¡¯s knee as he sidestepped.

    The pain was sharp, a flare of white in the dark.

    ¡°Your leg is gone.¡± Vic shook his head in disgust. ¡°Lead with your blade! You stepped forward, drew your sword back like an ax. Weren¡¯t you listening?¡±

    And though was Vic was right, anger started to kindle in Harald¡¯s chest. Flickers of curdled rage. The pain smarted in his leg, sweat had broken out across his brow, and Vic had been right, it felt as if he¡¯d just run a mile.

    And after only three swings?

    ¡°Enter your Tower guard!¡± snapped Vic, smoothly entering his. ¡°And see if you can avoid making the same mistake twice. Deep stance! Back straight, chest out, come on Harry, puff it out like the rooster you¡¯ve never been. Shoulders back, elbow tucked! Are we awake yet? Do you think this is all in jest? Yeoric will tear you apart, Harald, he¡¯ll joint you like a butcher does a poulet. Eyes on me! Are your ready? Cut!¡±

    Harald jerked forward, his blade flashing forward.

    Vic¡¯s sword parried his own, both clanging brightly in the morning air.

    ¡°Better! And by better, I mean what I¡¯d expect from a mildly competent ten year old girl. Back!¡±

    Harald shook out his arm, returned to his posture. His anger was growing. He gripped the longsword tightly, then, abruptly, relaxed his grip just a little. He kept his pinky and ring fingers tight, but relaxed his pointer. He didn¡¯t know why. It just felt right.

    Deep breath.

    Nothing but Vic.

    He wanted Harald to slash at his body?

    All right. He¡¯d get that.

    ¡°Cut!¡±

    Anger fueled his movements. His aches, his pains, his weariness and bone-deep fatigue were gone. He felt limber and flush with heat, his muscles responsive, his wits keen.

    Harald thrust the blade forward as if flinging it from him, and followed after. The longsword swung around and down sharply, and this time Harald kept his posture, his shoulders back, his chest out, his stance wide.

    Their blades rang out, but there was a different tenor to the clash. Now it sounded fierce.

    ¡°There we go, he¡¯s not asleep after all!¡± Vic stepped in close, their blades rising up between them, and then shoved. Harald stumbled back, arms and blade windmilling.

    ¡°Again. What are you waiting for? Guard position! Cut!¡±

    Harald barely had time to settle, but now an intuitive sense of how to move, how to flow seemed to enter him. His blade leaped forward, eager, and swung powerfully at Vic, who laughed and stepped in at an oblique line to parry.

    Again the sound of their blades meeting was different, a righteous clamor.

    ¡°Well, well, well,¡± said Vic, disengaging and stepping back. ¡°It looks like the pup has little teeth after all. What¡¯s wrong, Harald? You look upset. Surely a little drilling hasn¡¯t gotten under your skin?¡±

    Harald fought to catch his breath. His shoulders wanted to heave, but what he really wanted was to swing again, but more, to know what to do after that. How to follow up on that cut, how to pursue Vic, how to keep pressing him.

    He wanted to fight.

    The sound of metallic stars ringing out against the void filled his mind:

    The Demon Seed Has Stirred

    Your Dexterity has risen from 6 to 7

    Harald paused, the words hovering before him in the air.

    ¡°What?¡± asked Vic. ¡°Did you just go in your pants?¡±

    ¡°Stat raise.¡± Harald rested his blunt blade on his shoulder and looked to Sam. ¡°Dexterity just rose to 7.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re serious?¡± Sam¡¯s concern was obvious.

    ¡°Cause for celebration!¡± Vic lowered his blade and grinned. ¡°And proof that I am the world¡¯s best longsword instructor. Even I¡¯m surprised at my own talent.¡±

    ¡°No, it¡¯s that¡­¡± Harald considered explaining, but something held him back. ¡°It¡¯s just unexpected.¡±

    ¡°Harry-boy, your statistics are so low that should you manage to wipe your own arse successfully I¡¯m sure the Fallen Angel would reward you. Any stat raise is good, but¡­¡± Vic winced and shrugged. ¡°A 7 isn¡¯t really all that amazing.¡±

    ¡°Stop being such an ass,¡± said Sam. ¡°I know that might be impossible, but you¡¯re supposed to be his friend. Harald¡¯s giving this his all. He needs our support.¡±

    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

    ¡°What Harald needs,¡± said Vic dryly, ¡°is to be committed to a sanitorium. Barring that, he needs his friends to provide him with a reality check. Which is what this week shall prove. My goal, dear friends, is to live off your largesse, earn my scales, and convince Harald to approve of my assassination plan.¡±

    ¡°Not going to happen,¡± said Harald.

    ¡°You say that now. But we¡¯re just getting started.¡± Vic glanced at the sky, checking the position of the sun. ¡°Let¡¯s have you both practice that strike against each other till Tenth Bell. Stances!¡±

    Vic berated and belittled them for the remaining duration of the bell, and though Harald sought to tap that anger, he couldn¡¯t manifest it against Sam. Instead they repeated the strike over and over, stepping and striking and taking turns calling out ¡®cut¡¯. By the time the bell rang, Harald¡¯s wrist, arm, and shoulder were weak with exhaustion, and the three pound blade had begun to feel like it was ten times as heavy.

    ¡°Finally! Phew. I¡¯m exhausted.¡± Vic blew out his cheeks. ¡°Well, time for a snack, and then I¡¯m going to drink a bottle of wine and go to sleep. You all continue with your weights. Follow my routine, yes? I¡¯ll hopefully be awake for some form-work this evening.¡±

    Harald glanced at Sam, then gave a nod, sweat dripping from his chin. ¡°Right.¡±

    ¡°Bring the bags inside. Sam? Hurry up and make that snack for me. One does not keep a Blade Mentor waiting.¡±

    Sam clenched her jaw but bent to hoist the bag.

    ¡°No,¡± said Harald. ¡°I¡¯ve got this.¡±

    She nodded, wiped sweat from her own brow, then jogged ahead to begin preparing their food.

    Harald followed slowly after. First his Constitution, then his Strength, then his Dexterity. All within a few days of each other.

    All during moments of extreme effort, yes, but also determination. Moments of anger.

    How far could this Demon Seed take him? At this rate he¡¯d hit epic levels of physical prowess by the time he faced Yeoric. Would a stat continue to rise every day? Surely not. Or was that dependent on his will, his ambition, his ability to stay fiercely, voraciously focused?

    Harald opened his window to admire the new number, then considered the description for his Nature once more:

    Insatiable Void: You are the aching heart of ambition, the howling hunger that yearns to consume the world. A child of darkness, you will always seek the light, but will destroy all that you pursue.

    He¡¯d yearned for mastery before. To become deadly and respected by all in Flutic. To fill his father¡¯s boots. But his best attempts had been half-hearted and short lived.

    Never had he tapped such depths of resolve before. Already he¡¯d accomplished more in three days by sustaining this new level of intensity than he¡¯d ever done in his whole life.

    Was that the Demon Seed¡¯s doing? No, it felt organic to his very being, his own nature. It was him that fought on when his body yearned for a break. It was his will that got him out of bed in the morning when the old Harald would have turned away to sleep another bell or two.

    Wasn¡¯t it?

    Uneasy, uncertain, he entered the manor, dumped the gear, then joined the other two in the kitchen. Vic was regaling Sam with tales of his exploits, and seemed to derive all the more amusement the less interest she showed.

    But Harald remained sunken in his thoughts. To his surprise his appetite was fierce, but Vic stopped him from eating too much.

    ¡°You¡¯re not a bear preparing for winter,¡± his friend said, pulling his plate away. ¡°Now go digest somewhere for ten minutes than head downstairs to suffer.¡±

    Harald napped in the second parlor, only to be awoken by Vic. ¡°Bestir yourself, you cumbersome lout!¡±

    ¡°Nobody says ¡®cumbersome lout¡¯,¡± protested Harald, rubbing his eyes.

    ¡°All fashionable trends begin somewhere,¡± said Vic with easy equanimity. ¡°Show me this gymnasium of your father¡¯s. I¡¯m curious.¡±

    The trio descended, and Vic was impressed. He studied Gustav the segmented mannequin, the weights, the acrobatics equipment, and turned to Harald. ¡°Your father wasn¡¯t joking around in here, was he? We¡¯ll make use of these dummies at a later date. But for now, get to it. I¡¯m going to the wine cellar.¡±

    When he was gone, Sam stepped in a little closer. ¡°You doing all right?¡±

    ¡°Me?¡± Harald frowned. ¡°Sure. Why?¡±

    Sam studied him. ¡°I know what¡¯s in your window. And I know you. These past few days, you¡¯ve been¡­¡±

    Harald raised an eyebrow. ¡°Impressive?¡±

    ¡°Beyond driven. The Harald I knew had big dreams, but he wouldn¡¯t have been able¡ªno, he wouldn¡¯t have wanted to push himself this hard.¡±

    ¡°What are you saying, Sam?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m growing nervous about your Endowment. Maybe we should speak to an authority. The Seraphites, perhaps. Someone who can tell us what¡¯s happening to you.¡±

    ¡°Someone who¡¯ll lock me away in a cell or decide to simplify matters by burning me alive?¡±

    Sam scowled. ¡°There has to be someone more intelligent and learned than that. Harald, you¡¯re¡­¡± Again she hesitated. ¡°I¡¯ve always considered myself a driven person, and I¡¯ve always taken my training seriously, but you¡¯re¡­¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Harald felt a flicker of annoyance. ¡°I¡¯m finally taking my life seriously? I¡¯m finally trying to make up for lost ground?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re attacking these exercises like a man possessed. I don¡¯t mean to upset you. I¡¯m just worried.¡±

    Harald buried his anger and pinched the bridge of his nose. ¡°Look. I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯m excited by these new developments, but I¡¯m also scared. You¡¯re right.¡± He dropped his hand. ¡°I don¡¯t know what¡¯s happening to me. But right now it¡¯s giving me what I want. And, to be brutally honest, without Vorakhar, I¡¯d be dead. The manor would be up for sale, and your oath with it.¡±

    Sam paled.

    ¡°My point being,¡± said Harald, pushing on. ¡°That this, as far as I can tell thus far? This second chance, it¡¯s a good thing. You¡¯re free. I¡¯m on the path of vengeance against Yeoric, and maybe even to greater things. This Endowment is giving me power. But I get to decide what I do with it. There¡¯s no evil voice whispering corruption in my mind. It¡¯s just me and my new Soul Nature. My desire to grow stronger, to be better, to no longer lie or hide behind excuses.¡±

    Sam rubbed her upper arm, clearly disturbed, but nodded. ¡°Sure. I can see that. Can you¡­ look, you don¡¯t owe me anything, but can you promise to let me know if anything else changes in your window?¡± Her expression was guilty and concerned. ¡°You¡¯re like a brother to me, Harald. I don¡¯t want you to get in trouble.¡±

    ¡°Well.¡± Harald grinned ruefully. ¡°I already got in trouble in the dungeon, and have to fight a Level 3 Iron Vanguard in seven weeks, so it¡¯s a little late for that. But yes, I understand what you¡¯re saying. I promise I¡¯ll tell you, all right?¡±

    ¡°Good.¡± Sam took a deep breath and forced a smile. ¡°Speaking of which, shall we get to it?¡±

    Harald rubbed at his face. The nap, instead of restoring him, had only made his exhaustion feel more immediate. ¡°Yes. Sure. What¡¯s on the agenda for today?¡±

    Sam¡¯s smile turned wicked. ¡°Nothing awful. I¡¯m not Vic. Let¡¯s warm up with some weights. Put some pebbles in the bucket. Then we can go to sandbag carries, maybe some ladder work, then finish up with some club swings?¡±

    ¡°Delightful,¡± muttered Harald. ¡°Lead the way, oh gracious one.¡±

    The day proved to be endless. What little initial reserves he¡¯d had when he¡¯d first started up two days ago were gone by now, so that he almost immediately felt as if he were scraping the bottom of the barrel. He labored on shaky legs, and at the end of the sandbag work he vomited up the snack from before.

    Only to wave off Sam¡¯s concern, and, shaking and sweating, attempt the ladder work. His body just wasn¡¯t up to it, and he spent more time climbing up to the ladder than working his way along the rungs. He did his best with the club swings, but collapsed gratefully when Sam finally declared the workout over.

    She left him to catch his breath on the mat, and when he finally climbed upstairs he found his lunch cold and covered with a hand towel on the kitchen table. He ate alone, forcing himself to devour the meal, then limped into the parlor to fall on the divan and pass out amidst the ornamental cushions.

    Sam awoke him for their walk a second later.

    ¡°You don¡¯t have to go,¡± she said. ¡°Vic¡¯s in the attic, I think, singing and exploring what¡¯s in the chests. You should sleep more.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± protested Harald. ¡°A walk¡¯s easy. I won¡¯t skip it.¡±

    It wasn¡¯t easy. His knees ached. His ankles ached. His head ached. Sam forced him to drink copious amounts of water, but he rarely had to use the public park bathroom. He struggled to just keep moving, wincing and gasping as he labored around the park, and couldn¡¯t even fault the children who ran away screaming from him when he lurched into view from behind some trees, laboring for breath and gasping.

    He collapsed in an entrance hall chair when they got home, and Sam had to haul him up and push him into the reception room so that he could lie down on a couch there.

    He slept.

    Only to awaken again when Vic prodded him with the scabbarded point of his sword. ¡°You dead, Harald? I say, are you dead, Harry-boy?¡±

    ¡°Not dead,¡± muttered Harald, pushing the scabbard away. ¡°Just dying.¡±

    ¡°Assuredly. You look like shit. That¡¯s my professional, medical opinion.¡±

    ¡°Great.¡± Harald wanted nothing more than to pull a cushion over his head. To turn his face toward the back of the couch, to tell the drunken Vic that the deal was off, and that he just wanted to quietly die.

    For a long, agonizing second he just lay there, struggling.

    ¡°I¡¯ll tell you what,¡± said Vic, voice growing gentle as he sat beside Harald. ¡°Let me ask Sam to make you some hot soup. The body¡¯s not meant to be abused like this. You take the rest of the evening off. We¡¯ll do something light, some reading perhaps. You rest, have a hot bath, then sleep for twelve bells. We¡¯ll start again tomorrow, with you alert and ready to learn.¡±

    Harald swiveled his eyes up to study Vic.

    Vic¡¯s face was grave, sober, concerned.

    Hot soup. A hot bath. Ah, that would feel amazing on his aching bones. His knees. His everything. To rest. To fall into his bed, freshly bathed, and to find oblivion.

    Vic didn¡¯t even seem to mind.

    His body begged for him to stop. His thoughts were dazed. Everything hurt.

    ¡°You¡¯ve still got a little under two months to go,¡± said Vic kindly. ¡°What¡¯s one hour? Best you rest up. Come on. Give me the word and I¡¯ll tell Sam. You really don¡¯t look good, Harry-boy.¡±

    Harald closed his eyes. He pressed his brow into the stiff couch cushion. It was so reasonable. All he had to say was yes.

    And he could rest, bathe, eat, sleep.

    All sane, good things.

    For a long moment everything hung in the balance.

    Then he sighed, and with extreme reluctance and maximum effort, levered himself up to sitting.

    ¡°Fuck that,¡± he slurred. ¡°Let¡¯s keep training.¡±

    Vic¡¯s eyes glittered. ¡°You sure?¡±

    ¡°Yes. I hate it, but yes. What did you say we had to do? Forms? Get Sam. Let¡¯s get it done.¡±

    Vic slid off the couch to crouch before him, expression suddenly curious, inscrutable, piercing. ¡°I must admit surprise, old friend. This isn¡¯t like you.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve changed.¡± Harald palmed his eye. ¡°Am changing.¡±

    ¡°So I see. If Evernessa had been willing to bet on it, I¡¯d have wagered a Horizon¡¯s Whisper that you¡¯d have begged off tonight.¡±

    ¡°Good thing she¡¯s not here.¡±

    But Vic continued to stare at him, his expression sharp and probing despite the smell of wine about him. ¡°Something¡¯s amiss. But I¡¯m impressed. You passed my test.¡±

    Harald looked up as Vic stood. ¡°Test?¡±

    ¡°Oh yes.¡± Vic smiled without humor. ¡°If you¡¯d agreed to soup and cuddles, I¡¯d have tended to your every need, tucked you into bed myself, then gathered my belongings and left for good. But you chose to struggle on. Bravo. So the week continues apace. Now get up. I¡¯m eager to see just how far I can push you.¡±

 Chapter 17

    Training the next day was interrupted by the arrival of the representative from the Platinum Rose Auction House.

    Harald and Sam were engaged in footwork drills in the back patio when she suddenly straightened, face momentarily going blank.

    ¡°No time for panic attacks,¡± drawled Vic from where he lounged in a recliner, a hand towel draped over his face. ¡°Keep at it, young disciple.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s a guest at the front gate,¡± she said, tone businesslike. ¡°Harald? I think you should hurry and put something formal on.¡±

    ¡°Who?¡± asked Harald, rising from his stance, thighs burning, face dripping sweat. ¡°And formal? Now?¡±

    ¡°Now,¡± agreed Sam, striding toward the patio. ¡°I¡¯ll do my best to delay them while you prepare. I¡¯m getting a sense of great importance and dignity. My guess? It¡¯s the auction house.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± Vic sat up. ¡°An auction? I love auctions!¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re just taking inventory,¡± said Harald, and with a groan he set off at a jog. It was hard to rush when all he wanted to do was lie on the floor, but somehow he stripped, stepped into an empty bath and poured cold water over himself, did his best to lather, rinse, then emerged, still sweating, to dress in an elegant but light doublet and breeches. Boots, a belt, and then he went to brush his locks only to remember with a start that they were gone.

    Collecting a more robust handkerchief, he descended to the sound of gentle conversation in the first parlor. Sam stood in the doorway beside two women dressed in elegant pink and white robes, and when Harald passed into the airy, sunlit room he saw Vic standing by the bay window, a cup and saucer in hand, an older man seated in an armchair, hands folded in his lap.

    The stranger wore an elegant robe of deep crimson stitched with complex and subtle gold patterns, the sleeves voluminous, the cut at once modest but luxurious. His beard was neatly trimmed, his mustache long, and his hair was bound back into a tight bun, and so finely oiled that it appeared lacquered. His features were ageless, his hair a perfect black, so that he could have been anywhere from thirty-five to fifty.

    ¡°¡­and that¡¯s when I realized that it was an expert duplicate,¡± Vic said, which, to Harald¡¯s surprise, caused the older man to smile. ¡°But despite how much I had paid for it, I had to declare myself content. Can you guess why?¡±

    ¡°To possess a forgery made by his mistress is a rare acquisition,¡± allowed the older man. ¡°Especially since it is believed that Piragalo¡¯s greatest works were actually created by her.¡±

    ¡°Indeed! Ah, Harald.¡± Vic turned to him with a broad smile. ¡°I was just regaling Master Ling, the esteemed representative from the Platinum Rose Auction House, with my misadventures in purchasing fine art. Honestly, I¡¯d have fared much better with his aid.¡±

    Master Ling inclined his head. ¡°Your friend is too modest, Master Darrowdelve.¡±

    ¡°Master Ling,¡± said Harald, moving forward to bow formally. ¡°You honor my house.¡±

    ¡°Master Darrowdelve, it is the Platinum Rose Auction House that is honored.¡± Master Ling¡¯s manner was easy, calm, and utterly professional. Though he didn¡¯t look Harald up and down, he surely couldn¡¯t help but notice his host¡¯s disheveled appearance. ¡°We received a most intriguing invitation to pay your estate a visit, and I was pleased to personally attend this venture. How have you been?¡±

    Harald accepted a cup of tea from Sam, and then sat. For awhile they engaged in pleasantries, an exchange that was greatly facilitated by Vic¡¯s effortless charm; where Harald was stiff and artless, Vic seemed to know exactly when to be courteous, when to be roguish, and how to make countless allusions to history and art that seemed to delight Master Ling.

    Finally, the introductory conversation over, the representative set his cup aside. ¡°Well, as pleasant as this has been, I am, unfortunately, here in a professional capacity. How can the Platinum Rose be of assistance, Master Darrowdelve?¡±

    Harald sat up straight. ¡°My family fortunes have never recovered from my father¡¯s death. I¡¯m afraid that despite my best efforts I must now accept reality and take responsibility for my situation. As such, I was hoping you could survey the contents of my manor, and explain how we might proceed by putting everything but the contents of my father¡¯s study and the gymnasium below up for auction.¡±

    Master Ling raised an eyebrow. ¡°Everything?¡±

    ¡°Everything,¡± said Harald firmly.

    ¡°Everything of value,¡± said Vic, tone almost careless. ¡°Obviously there¡¯s much within these four walls that are beneath the notice of the Platinum Rose.¡±

    Oh. Harald nodded hurriedly in agreement.

    ¡°Very well.¡± Master Ling rose to his feet. ¡°I am glad to provide what assistance I can.¡± He nodded to his two assistants, who immediately opened satchels to draw forth leather-bound notebooks and quills. ¡°Shall we begin here?¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± said Harald, rising to his feet. ¡°I¡¯m at your service.¡±

    For the next hour they drifted from room to room. Sam took the lead, using her Item Catalog skill to guide the representative to the objects of most value.

    To Harald¡¯s regret Vic excused himself, so that he was left to follow the contingent by himself, scrutinizing Master Ling as each item was displayed and trying to gauge how impressed the representative was.

    The assistants took diligent notes, copying every comment that Master Ling made as he inspected the furniture, artwork, and books in the library. He seemed mildly interested by the tapestries in the upstairs hallway, and paused to sigh over some of the more exquisite pieces of hand-carved furniture crafted from rare woods and inlaid with precious stones, along with the obvious silverware and gold plate. They spent half a bell in the library, with Master Ling demonstrating a patience and focus that impressed Harald as he went book to book, checking the titles and editions against what had to be an encyclopedic knowledge, though nothing seemed to particularly satisfy him. Finally, Harald¡¯s mother¡¯s harp drew the most approving expression of all, and the assistants spent a good five minutes transcribing Master Ling¡¯s in-depth description.

    When they were done, Harald was surprised to find himself exhausted in a completely different manner than before. He felt raw and exposed, as if Master Ling had passed his fingers over the deepest secrets of his family and found them wanting, for as they gathered in the entrance hall, the representative turned to Harald with a polite smile and raised brows.

    ¡°Is that all?¡± His tone was silken and nonjudgemental, but his gaze was piercing. ¡°Your father was a hero in his day, and his deeds are still sung in every noble hall.¡± That, Harald, knew, was a lie. ¡°Surely he left something behind of note?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid not,¡± said Harald. ¡°He wasn¡¯t a collector, and he took all his gear with him on his last venture into the dungeon.¡±

    ¡°A pity.¡± Master Ling slid his hands into his sleeves. ¡°But the world is as it is. Thank you for your gracious hospitality, Master Darrowdelve. You have honored me far beyond my humble station by granting me access to your illustrious home. We shall confer and provide you with a base estimate for those items that the Platinum Rose would be interested in placing on auction. Please expect to hear from me within a week.¡±

    ¡°Thank you.¡± Harald knew there was more he should say, but the words eluded him. ¡°You have honored me and my home by your visit. I look forward to hearing from you.¡±

    Master Ling bowed his head, and then he and his assistants departed.

    Sam and Harald stood outside on the front landing till their guests were gone from view, and then entered the manor. The moment the front doors closed Harald sagged. ¡°That was excruciating.¡±

    ¡°What an awful old man,¡± said Sam. ¡°You would think we were showing him rancid cuts of meat.¡±

    Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

    ¡°It was that bad?¡± Harald stared at her in shock. ¡°He seemed interested, especially in Mother¡¯s harp.¡±

    ¡°Oh, he couldn¡¯t help his salivating over that piece.¡± Sam blew out her cheeks. ¡°But he must have a powerful Passive skill that made him impossible to read. Even my Guest Acumen was coming up blank.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s all over?¡± asked Vic, wandering out of the kitchen with a glass of wine in hand. ¡°What a lovely old poisoner. Delightful.¡±

    ¡°Delightful?¡± asked Sam. ¡°You can¡¯t be serious.¡±

    ¡°Oh, but I am.¡± Vic grinned. ¡°I love old monsters like him. Their scheming, their false ways, their ingratiating smiles, their polite phrases. All the while their minds are spinning as they concoct schemes to defraud the world of every last Copper Moon. In their own way, they¡¯re as predictable as children.¡±

    ¡°Well, he left me feeling like crap,¡± said Harald. ¡°You¡¯d think I was showing him around a hovel.¡±

    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s his job.¡± Vic waved around his glass. ¡°Who do you think he works for? You or his miserly auction house? He¡¯ll come back in a week with outrageously low estimates, but offer to give you some prime auction hour if you double the house¡¯s commissions, and darkly intimate that without such a spotlight you might as well not waste his time. Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ll be on hand.¡± Vic winked. ¡°I know just how to handle old bastards like him.¡±

    Harald couldn¡¯t help but laugh. ¡°And where did you learn all this?¡±

    ¡°Where?¡± Vic grinned. ¡°That would be telling, old son. Now. Based off my level of inebriation, you should be at work on your Marheim weights. Am I wrong? Of course not.¡± And he narrowed his eyes and said in a dangerous tone: ¡°Get to it.¡±

    ¡°Yes maestro,¡± chuckled Harald, immensely relieved to have to contend with sand bags instead of Master Ling. ¡°With pleasure.¡±

    * * *

    Days passed in an agony of sweat and burning muscles.

    Life contracted to a continuous state of extended effort and bloody-minded determination.

    Pre-dawn runs. The damp and old sweat smell of the gymnasium. The feel of a blade as Harald swung it again and again in mindless routines. Heaping plates of grilled chicken and vegetables. Naps stolen when he could get them. Long afternoon walks wearing a weighted vest. Vic¡¯s endlessly abusive tirades.

    Moments when he thought he had nothing left to give. Moments on all fours in the gym, heaving for breath, trying not to vomit. Moments lying in bed at night, too exhausted to sleep, where he wondered if he¡¯d simply gone mad.

    But Sam¡¯s presence did wonders to keep him going. Not only did she encourage him, push him, cajole him to keep going when he felt faint or weak or overwhelmed, but her own strength and fortitude, her own enthusiasm for the blade and training inspired him.

    He was seeing her in a completely new light. Her speed, her focus, her own boundless reserves of willpower. She still rolled her eyes at Vic, but after his help with Master Ling she was less likely to snap at him.

    There was no doubting that she was more physically capable than Harald. Faster, stronger, more resilient. She often did double the workout that he did, such that by the end of their sessions she was just as exhausted and soaked in sweat.

    But she never gave up.

    Vic¡¯s mood, however, only seemed to sour the closer they got to the seventh day. He drank more, was more cutting with his comments, and each day insisted in ever more from them both.

    But that didn¡¯t phase Harald, either. Everything with Vic was a test. From that first day of extreme discouragement to that evening¡¯s offer of warm soup and sleep, Harald realized that Vic was constantly probing, pushing, testing his resolve.

    Doing everything he could to make him fail

    And knowing that took the sting out of his friend¡¯s jibes, his heart-felt sighs of disappointment, his impatience, his insults.

    On the morning of the sixth day they had a new visitor. The three of them were eating lunch in the kitchen¡ªHarald couldn¡¯t remember the last time they¡¯d eaten in the formal dining room¡ªwhen Sam¡¯s head snapped up and she frowned.

    ¡°A new guest.¡± She stood and smoothed back her hair. ¡°By the Fallen Angel, I look like a mess.¡±

    ¡°Who is it?¡± asked Harald around a mouthful of grilled beef and onions. ¡°Master Ling?¡±

    ¡°No, it feels different. Familiar, but¡­ one moment.¡±

    And she strode toward the front of the house.

    ¡°She¡¯s a keeper,¡± said Vic, lounging back in his chair. ¡°Which is why I still can¡¯t fathom your ending her oath. She¡¯s too good for you, Harry-boy. You should have kept her lashed to your side.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s not a dog, Vic.¡±

    ¡°Far better. She¡¯s a little too muscular for my tastes, though her athleticism will be a blessing, I¡¯ll grant you that, and her demeanor too serious, but she¡¯s kept you and this house afloat for years.¡± Vic sighed dramatically. ¡°Though I guess that¡¯s all going to change regardless. A pity. I¡¯ve enjoyed visiting you here.¡±

    ¡°You can still come visit wherever I end up,¡± smiled Harald, putting his annoyance aside.

    Vic looked affronted. ¡°Do you think I¡¯ll darken the doorway of your hovel in the hopes of a cup of salty water?¡±

    ¡°You saying you only come round because of my wine cellar and manor house?¡±

    ¡°But of course!¡± Vic laughed, eyes glittering. ¡°You can¡¯t have told yourself it¡¯s your charm, can you?¡±

    This kind of cruel jesting was nothing new; in the past, before Vorakhar, Vic would occasionally engage in this faux-honesty to the amusement of everyone else. Harald would laugh along, uneasy, but not daring to challenge his friend.

    But those days were over.

    Harald set down his fork. ¡°Are we friends, Vic? Sometimes I can¡¯t tell.¡±

    ¡°Oh no, save me from direct and honest conversation.¡± Vic rolled his eyes and looked away. ¡°Don¡¯t be a bore, Harald.¡±

    ¡°Seriously. You¡¯re a wastrel and a lethal killer. You can converse with a representative of the Platinum Rose about art, and then spend your nights at the Kitty Kat Club with abandon. You only ever tell me you value my wine and estate, but then you agree to train me for a week. Which are you, Vic? A cold opportunist, or just a cruel friend?¡±

    Vic leveled a flat stare at Harald, and the silence between them drew out until Sam appeared in the doorway. ¡°Ustim Flowervault is in the first parlor. He¡¯s here on official business, he says, but is happy to wait at your convenience.¡±

    ¡°Is he now,¡± said Harald, wiping his mouth and standing. ¡°I don¡¯t believe that for a second.¡±

    ¡°Flowervault?¡± Vic smiled. ¡°What an absolutely wonderful name.¡±

    For a second Harald was tempted to invite Vic along; surely his friend¡ªor whatever he was¡ªwould know how to both read and handle Ustim. It felt so tempting to just hand over these weighty obligations to Vic.

    But instead he simply marched out of the kitchen. He wore his training clothes, and no doubt reeked of sweat, but he¡¯d be damned if he¡¯d run upstairs to bathe like he had for Master Ling.

    Ustim stood by the bay window, hands linked behind his back, gazing out over the wild front garden. He turned as Harald entered, and his dark gaze flicked up and down, taking in his appearance.

    ¡°Ustim,¡± said Harald, stepping forward to extend his hand. ¡°I suppose I should have been expecting you.¡±

    ¡°Master Darrowdelve.¡± Ustim shook his hand gingerly. ¡°My apologies for not coming sooner. It¡¯s been a mess at the offices, what with the last Shuddering and all the deaths. A nasty business.¡±

    ¡°The last Shuddering?¡± Harald couldn¡¯t control his curiosity. ¡°I hadn¡¯t heard.¡±

    ¡°You haven¡¯t been getting out much, I see. Yes, a Level 7 Shuddering. It wouldn¡¯t have been so bad, but it took place at Fourth Bell, and caught the plaza guards by surprise. It was quickly contained by the scale-golems; we were fortunate that the House Veridian Bronze Eagles were on hand, as well as a competent delegation from the Nihtscua, but still.¡± Ustim shook his head with grim disapproval.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry to hear that.¡±

    ¡°Yes, well.¡± Ustim inhaled sharply and then smiled. ¡°How are you, Harald? I know we haven¡¯t had much contact, but to be frank, I¡¯m growing ever more concerned about your welfare.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m well, Ustim. Thank you.¡±

    ¡°Is that so?¡± Ustim studied him. ¡°Master Yeoric came by my office and asked me to write up an amendment to the charter. It seems you challenged him to a duel, the outcome of which will allow him to end all financial obligations to you?¡±

    Harald bit back his sharp retort, and instead sat in an armchair and leaned back. ¡°Yes, Ustim. I demanded he return the scales he stole from me.¡±

    ¡°I see.¡± Ustim also sat. ¡°You are aware, of course, that Yeoric is an accomplished raider?¡±

    ¡°I am.¡±

    Ustim hesitated. He clearly wanted to drive the point home, but Harald wasn¡¯t giving him any opportunities. ¡°I¡­ to be clear: have you manifested any advantage of which I¡¯m unaware? Gained a class, perchance? Because if not, Harald, you¡¯ll be fighting a Level 3 warrior. Yeoric is no trifling opponent.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m well aware, Ustim. Thank you.¡± Harald smiled. ¡°I¡¯m confident in my ability to defeat him and gain back what was stolen from me. Especially as there seems to be no other legal recourse, given what you told me.¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡± Ustim opened his briefcase and drew forth a sheaf of papers. ¡°The charter clearly states the terms of the investment you made, which include the amount you claim were stolen.¡± He sighed dolorously. ¡°This is a nasty business. To think that there can be this kind of corruption in our ministry. A sorry state of affairs.¡± He glanced at Harald. ¡°Though, after our last conversation, I gathered that you didn¡¯t want me to press forward with an inquiry? I was under the impression that you had decided to simply move on to more lucrative affairs?¡±

    ¡°Your impression was wrong.¡±

    Ustim raised his brows, waiting for Harald to elaborate, and when he didn¡¯t, he frowned. ¡°I see. Well. You have sorely provoked Yeoric. You promised him a second Horizon¡¯s Whisper, but he doesn¡¯t believe you have the scales, thus making a mockery of the terms of the duel.¡±

    ¡°He has to defeat me for the matter to be relevant.¡±

    Ustim winced. ¡°Alas. A law was passed in 745 under the Martial Reformation Act to prevent frivolous dueling terms from clogging up the courts. It was, it seems, a means of civic disruption at the time. According to Article 3, Proviso B, when there is reasonable doubt that a party to a duel will be unable to pay their obligation should they lose, then the courts can be asked to place an injunction on said party to secure the amount wagered and ensure that it is available at the time of the duel in case of a loss.¡±

    Harald¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°What are you saying, Ustim?¡±

    The old man hesitated, as if pained. ¡°Yeoric has invoked this clause to place a hold on a Horizon¡¯s Whisper worth of scales. Representatives from the Flutic High Court are waiting outside to seize the appropriate amount as soon as you and I are done with our dealings here.¡± Ustim grimace. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Harald. But you¡¯re going to need to sign and surrender the scales immediately. Unless.¡±

    ¡°Unless?¡± asked Harald, trying hard to maintain his neutral expression even as shock made him numb and overwhelmed at the same time.

    Ustim leaned forward, his eyes glittering. ¡°Unless you¡¯re willing to listen to a proposition of mine. I¡¯ll be honest. I think it¡¯s your only way out of this wretched mess you¡¯ve gotten yourself into.¡±

 Chapter 18

    Harald stilled.

    The world became like fractured glass, a composite of disparate shards that were suddenly revealed to fit together all too well.

    Ustim was watching him with avid, hungry intensity.

    His question hung in the air.

    It prompted an immediate response, whether emotional or a simple demand for more information.

    But Harald felt his emotions grow cold. His body, strangely, relaxed. He stared at Ustim, and something in his gaze made the older man narrow his eyes and draw back.

    And in his mind¡¯s eye, Harald saw Vorakhar¡¯s leering visage leaning in close, peering him in the eyes, measuring his worth, gauging his potential. He saw the demon¡¯s leer become a grin, saw the hunger in those oil-black eyes, saw the amusement, and felt as if the memory were alive, as if the demon were aware of his predicament, was amused by it.

    Ustim coughed into his fist. ¡°I¡¯ll elaborate. I am, unfortunately, well aware of your financial predicament. After all, I myself made the first loan to help you offset living expenses four years ago, to the tune of, oh, let me see¡­¡± He drew out another official looking document. ¡°The handsome and not negligible sum of two Horizon Whisper¡¯s. On which, I may add, I charged very little interest, interest which has since compounded to¡­ an additional four Zenith Tides.¡±

    Ustim glanced up, expression alert, apologetic, expectant.

    Harald stared at him.

    ¡°Thus,¡± continued Ustim, discomfited, ¡°I have made some discrete inquiries and are aware that you owe something in the area of four to five Twilight Infinitums. Harald.¡±

    He removed his glasses and adopted what he no doubt thought was a grandfatherly expression of concern. ¡°How did it come to this? You cannot hope to keep Darrowdelve Manor. The interest payments must be crippling.¡±

    ¡°What do you want, Ustim?¡±

    ¡°All I¡¯m saying is that I¡¯m aware that you¡¯ve been backed into a corner, through no fault of your own. Life is cruel, and finances unforgiving. I¡¯m as aware as anyone else of your sincere efforts to -¡±

    Harald leaned forward, and now he did smile, but the expression only served to unnerve the older man. ¡°Ustim. Quit the charade. I know now who doctored the charter. Why it looks freshly written. Who advised Yeoric of Article 3. There¡¯s no longer any reason for pretense. Just tell me what you want.¡±

    Ustim fidgeted with his glasses then placed them back on his nose. ¡°I declare I don¡¯t understand what you¡¯re talking about, Harald. Regardless. My loyalty to your father induces me to take extreme measures to help you. I will vouchsafe you the Horizon¡¯s Whisper so that you may duel with Yeoric as you desire, or, if you want me to make this all simply go away, to speak with him and settle the matter privately. Further, I¡¯m willing to look at your finances and lend my considerable acumen in helping restructure your loans, perhaps even come up with a new payment plan that can help you retain some sense of hope in keeping your home.¡±

    Harald waited, still smiling.

    ¡°In exchange¡­¡± Ustim coughed and sat up straighter. ¡°Allow me full run of the manor for a week. I would bring a team of expert dwarven architects and miners to explore the premises. And should they find any hidden rooms, you would agree to give me the entirety of the contents discovered therein, without qualifications.¡±

    Harald nodded slowly and sat back. Heard, as if whispered in his ear, Master Ling¡¯s words: Your father was a hero in his day, and his deeds are still sung in every noble hall. Surely he left something behind of note?

    Ustim waited, expectant, and then quirked his head to one side. ¡°Harald, I¡¯m sure I don¡¯t need to mention how serious this matter is. If the Flutic High Court finds you unable to provide a Horizon¡¯s Whisper worth of scales, they will find you in contempt of Flutic dueling law and place an injunction against your home, commandeering whatever assets they deem necessary to satisfy the proposed wager. And I am sure you don¡¯t have enough to cover such a requisition. Harald.¡± Ustim leaned forward. ¡°You stand to lose your house, today, now. Unless you agree to my help.¡±

    ¡°Sure.¡± Harald stood. ¡°Wait here. I¡¯ll be back.¡±

    Ustim bolted to his feet. ¡°If you seek to escape -¡±

    Harald turned back to stare at him.

    ¡°I mean,¡± said Ustim, sitting back down. ¡°Yes. But don¡¯t take long. The Flutic High Court -¡±

    Harald strode from the parlor. Sam was in the entrance hall, her expression pale with fury, but he passed her and made for the kitchen.

    Vic wasn¡¯t there, nor was he in the second parlor or the wine cellar. They found him in the back patio, stretched out on a recliner, his towel back over his face, humming as he sipped directly from a bottle.

    ¡°Vic.¡± Harald sat on the recliner next to him. ¡°I need you to do me a favor.¡±

    Vic didn¡¯t move. ¡°What is it, Harry-boy?¡±

    ¡°You work for Countess Sonora.¡±

    Now Vic did lift the corner of his towel. ¡°On occasion. Not that she boasts the fact to polite society. What of it?¡±

    ¡°You can contact her directly.¡±

    Vic sat up smoothly, pulling the towel off his face and eyeing Harald warily. ¡°You¡¯re making me nervous, darling. Spit it out.¡±

    ¡°Secure a loan for me. A single Horizon¡¯s Whisper, to be repaid when I win the duel against Yeoric.¡±

    Vic raised both brows in delighted surprise, then laughed and slapped his knee. ¡°You had me worried there for a second, Harald! You look so serious. A fine jest.¡±

    ¡°I am serious.¡±

    ¡°No, you¡¯re deluded, is what you are. A fine difference.¡±

    ¡°She has the capital.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not the issue. The question is: why should she throw it away on a no-account son of a vanished hero who stands not a chance in hell of winning this duel?¡±

    Burning conviction arose within Harald like flame from blown-upon coals. ¡°I don¡¯t know. That¡¯s what you¡¯re going to convince her of.¡±

    ¡°Oh Harald.¡± Vic¡¯s smile turned pitying. ¡°I fear -¡±

    ¡°Both Master Ling and Ustim are after something hidden in this house. Some wealth of my father¡¯s. Ustim has coordinated an entire sequence of events to force me into allowing him to search the premises with a team of dwarven architects. Has offered to cover the loan himself if I agree to let him keep whatever he discovers, no questions asked.¡±

    Vic stilled, grew wary.

    ¡°My father hid something in this house that they¡¯re after. It¡¯s mine. But if you get Countess Sonora to cover my Horizon¡¯s Whisper, I¡¯ll guarantee you to not only cover the payment from whatever we discover, but to double what we¡¯ve already agreed to pay you. Two Zenith Tides.¡±

    Vic tapped his chin, then leaped to his feet and began to pace. ¡°Tell me everything Ustim said.¡±

    Harald did so, his accounting bloodless and factual.

    ¡°Now, this is a much more dastardly predator than poor Master Ling,¡± said Vic. ¡°But yes. I agree. Ustim has gone to some length and risked some official censure by taking these steps. And all to force this issue. Alas! He has played his hand to forcibly.¡±

    ¡°So you¡¯ll secure the loan?¡±

    ¡°But of course.¡± Vic dropped to one knee before Harald and seized his hand. ¡°Are we not boon companions? Brothers from different mothers? Had you any doubt?¡±

    Harald stared at his friend.

    ¡°Just one slight modification.¡± Vic released Harald as he moved back to his recliner. ¡°I¡¯ll be cashing in a large amount of good will with Countess Sonora. She won¡¯t accept a one-for-one return. We¡¯ll need to provide some recompense. And I myself won¡¯t take such risks without a little more inducement. Say, five Zenith Tides.¡±

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    ¡°You bastard,¡± hissed Sam from the doorway.

    Vic shrugged modestly. ¡°It¡¯s a cruel world, Sam. We all do what we must to keep our chins above the water.¡±

    ¡°A Zenith to Countess Sonora, five to you,¡± said Harald.

    ¡°Highway robbery,¡± said Sam, her eyes wide, her hatred for Vic blazing. ¡°You stab your friend when he needs you most.¡±

    ¡°He is currently conversing with Victor Carmine the Rapier Regent, esteemed member of Countess Sonora¡¯s little murderous band. Vic the charming wastrel shall return promptly once business is concluded.¡±

    ¡°Fine,¡± said Harald. ¡°Deal.¡±

    ¡°Then shall we shake? I do love little symbolic gestures.¡±

    Harald shook Vic¡¯s hand and stood. ¡°Come with me.¡±

    Vic glanced to Sam. ¡°When did Harry-boy get so¡­ commanding? I love it. Gives me goosebumps.¡±

    Harald strode back to the first parlor where Ustim was rifling through his papers.

    ¡°Ustim, this is Victor Carmine, a representative of Countess Sonora.¡±

    Ustim set his briefcase aside and stood, confused.

    ¡°Master Carmine has guaranteed that Countess Sonora will cover the Horizon¡¯s Whisper.¡± Harald¡¯s stare was cold. He felt himself a statue of living ice. ¡°I¡¯ll sign the amendments to the charter now, and then speak with the Flutic High Court representatives. I¡¯m sure they¡¯ll wish to escort Master Carmine to the Sonora Estate.¡±

    ¡°I¡ªbut, I mean, this is preposterous,¡± spluttered Ustim. ¡°This man¡ª¡±

    ¡°Flowervault, is it not?¡± Vic snagged Ustim¡¯s hand and began to pump it. ¡°I don¡¯t know what you were about to say, but I¡¯d urge caution. The youth of today has grown terribly lax with their manners and decorum. They have more in common with feral dogs than the esteemed nobility of yore.¡± All the while he continued to shake Ustim¡¯s hand vigorously. ¡°An ill-considered comment, or worse yet, an accidental insult, could unleash a world of lamentable violence. Consider the upholstery. Neither of us wants to see it ruined, do we?¡±

    Ustim¡¯s eyes had grown wide behind his spectacles. ¡°The¡­ upholstery? I¡­ no, of course not, unhand me, young man!¡±

    Vic did so, his smile wide. ¡°Good, good. We understand each other. Alas, for you to be treated in such a vulgar manner. I can¡¯t wait for you to run home and complain to your wife about it. No wife? Your servants. Are you too miserly to afford any? Your dog, then. Did it die of boredom? But you have the air of a taxidermist. You can vent your spleen to its stuffed corpse. An exciting night for you.¡±

    Bewildered, Ustim gathered his papers and placed them back in his case. ¡°Harald. Think carefully on what you¡¯re doing here. Thus far you¡¯ve been treated with kid gloves. Slap my hand away, and it will not go well for you.¡±

    Harald extended his hand. ¡°Amendment, Ustim. Now.¡±

    The older man extended the form. Vic peered over Harald¡¯s shoulder as they read it together, and then nodded to Harald. ¡°Awful little document, but all seems in order.¡±

    Harald signed it and gave it back. ¡°Now, Ustim. Listen very carefully. I am the master of Darrowdelve Manor. If you step foot on the premises again, I shall kill you.¡±

    ¡°Harald!¡± Ustim drew back, shock. ¡°I never!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m quite serious. You¡¯ve made your position quite clear, so now I make mine: you are not welcome nor wanted here. Cross the boundary of my estate and I will do everything I can to cut you down. Now get the fuck out.¡±

    ¡°Well I never!¡± mimicked Vic.

    Ustim glared, stuffed the form back in his case, then marched out of the parlor. Harald and Vic escorted him out, and true to his word, two officials in the colors of the Flutic High Court were standing just outside the main gate, their robin¡¯s egg blue and black uniforms distinctive.

    ¡°Leave this with me, Harry.¡± Vic dusted off Harald¡¯s shoulders. ¡°I¡¯ll have a quick chat with those men, then take them to Countess Sonora. All will be well. Assuming, of course, that you find this hidden treasure vault.¡± Vic smiled sadly as he stepped back. ¡°If you don¡¯t, then, well. You can imagine.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll find it,¡± said Harald. ¡°Thank you, Vic.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t thank me. I¡¯m going to come out of this five Zenith Tides the richer, not to mention what you owe me for my tuition. This may prove more lucrative than any other professional endeavor I¡¯ve ever undertaken. Incredible.¡± For a moment Vic simply stood there, marveling, and then he laughed and jogged lightly down the steps to approach the officials.

    ¡°Gentlemen!¡± he cried, exuberant. ¡°Let me bend you ear a moment. I¡¯ve some shocking claims to make that you will no doubt be thrilled to verify.¡±

    Harald stared past him to where Ustim stood outside the main gate. The old man clutched his briefcase to his chest, and his expression was hard and cold as he glared back at Harald.

    ¡°What a monster,¡± said Sam quietly, stepping up beside him.

    ¡°Worse for having pretended to be my friend all these years,¡± said Harald softly. ¡°Almost as bad as my having believed him.¡±

    They closed the door, blocking out the High Court officials¡¯ complaints and Vic¡¯s laughter.

    Harald pinched the bridge of his nose, letting everything settle.

    ¡°Harald.¡± Sam sounded tentative. ¡°I know the evidence points to there being a room hidden somewhere, but none of my Actives or Passives have ever indicated that to be true. Guardian¡¯s Vigil has never encompassed this hypothetical room, nor has Item Catalogue ever listed anything that could qualify. As a Level 3 Majordomo, my powers should extend to every aspect of the estate.¡±

    ¡°I know.¡± Harald rubbed at his face then straightened. ¡°But that just means whatever defenses Dad put in place are more powerful than your 3rd Level abilities.¡±

    Sam nodded reluctantly. ¡°True.¡±

    ¡°Are there any blueprints of the manor?¡± Harald tried to imagine where such a room could be. ¡°Anything that might have been used by Father when he purchased the estate?¡±

    ¡°Nothing that I¡¯ve ever seen,¡± said Sam. ¡°But there are plenty of folders and files in his old study that I¡¯ve never looked through.¡±

    ¡°I tried going through that stuff, once or twice,¡± admitted Harry. ¡°It¡¯s all outdated adventuring contracts, correspondence with his old friends, business accounts, financial statements.¡±

    ¡°We might need to take a second look,¡± said Sam.

    Harald grimaced in impatience. ¡°Possibly. But there¡¯s one obvious place he¡¯d have set a secret room.¡±

    Sam raised both brows questioningly, and then nodded. ¡°Around the gymnasium.¡±

    ¡°He had it massively modified when we moved in. If ever he was going to build a secret chamber, it was then.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve never seen anything suspicious,¡± allowed Sam. ¡°But I¡¯ve never actively hunted for anything, either. Shall we go take a look?¡±

    Harald led the way. They descended swiftly, only for Harry to pause halfway down the stairwell. ¡°Wait. Let¡¯s start at the top.¡±

    They fetched hammers and set to exploring every inch of the stairwell, knocking and rapping on the stone blocks and steps.

    Nothing. They did the same to the basement landing, moving around and probing and tapping.

    ¡°I¡¯m trying to focus my abilities,¡± said Sam. ¡°But they¡¯re Passives. Steward¡¯s Foresight is tingling, but I think that¡¯s just in reaction to your own intent.¡±

    Harald didn¡¯t answer. From the basement landing there were three short passages: one led to the kitchen storeroom and attached wine cellar; the second to a general storeroom filled with crates and junk that might once have been an actual dungeon; and the third to the gymnasium.

    They moved to the gym. The scale of the cavernous room was daunting; eight yards tall, perhaps some thirty deep.

    Sam blew out her cheeks. ¡°I just pray it¡¯s not a trap door hidden under the mat.¡±

    ¡°Only one way to find out,¡± said Harald.

    For the next two hours they explored diligently, moving along the walls, then doing a second circuit with a ladder, climbing up and down as they tapped and prodded and pushed. They moved all the equipment but for the Gustav mannequin which was attached to the ground, explored the storage closets, then set to probing at the floor, shifting the ancient mat which shed copious amounts of fiber and noxious dust.

    Coughing, exhausted, mouth filmly with gunk, Harald finally was forced to admit defeat. ¡°Not in here.¡±

    Sam raked her dusty hair back. ¡°Or beyond our ability to find.¡±

    ¡°What if he hid it with magic?¡± asked Harald.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± Sam frowned. ¡°Magic doesn¡¯t last forever. Even the most powerful of household wards need to be refreshed. It¡¯s been four years since he died. Unless he had a truly powerful dwarven Forge Father cast the spell, it¡¯d have faded by now.¡±

    ¡°Then¡­¡± Harald scratched the back of his head.

    ¡°The wine cellar, the old dungeon?¡±

    Harald nodded grimly. ¡°On we go.¡±

    They spent another two hours knocking and tapping and pushing and cursing the basement rooms. There was a single moment of excitement when they discovered a lever inside of an ancient barrel at the back of the cellar, but pulling on this only caused a fake wall to swing open to reveal a small room dominated by a tiny round table and four chairs, a single wine rack laden with ancient bottles affixed to the wall.

    ¡°A private drinking nook?¡± asked Sam, voice filled with disappointment.

    ¡°These bottles look expensive,¡± said Harald, refusing to admit how crushed he was. ¡°And let¡¯s search in here. Maybe this is a decoy to hide the real hidden room.¡±

    But it wasn¡¯t.

    The Sixth Bell rang when they finally dragged themselves upstairs to drink a glass of water. Exhausted, depleted, furious, Harald couldn¡¯t sit. Not only had Ustim ruined his day and revealed a history of deception and manipulation, but he¡¯d wasted Harald¡¯s sixth day of training. Would Vic insist on repeating it?

    Harald sighed and shook his head.

    ¡°What?¡± asked Sam.

    ¡°I¡¯m just realizing how messed up my priorities have become.¡± Harald set down his empty glass. ¡°I¡¯m going to head upstairs and explore Dad¡¯s room. Maybe he wanted it kept close at hand.¡±

    ¡°Good idea!¡± Sam¡¯s eyes lit up and she stood. ¡°Lead the way, good sir!¡±

    Harald turned away, only to turn back.

    ¡°What?¡± asked Sam.

    ¡°Just¡­ thanks.¡± Harald smiled. ¡°For¡­ everything I guess. Never giving up on me. Not giving up now, either.¡±

    ¡°Aw, you¡¯re getting sentimental in your old age,¡± said Sam, punching him lightly in the shoulder. ¡°And didn¡¯t I tell you? I¡¯m only helping so I can force you to pay me a thousand Celestials. Don¡¯t think I¡¯m a big softie or anything.¡±

    ¡°Ha,¡± said Harald. ¡°But seriously. Thank you.¡±

    Sam went to protest again, make another joke, but then stilled. She curled a lock of blonde hair behind her ear and smiled, a smile that caused the corners of her eyes to crinkle. ¡°You¡¯re welcome, Harald.¡±

    For a moment they stood thus, then Harald turned and began marching to the stairs. They searched his Father¡¯s room, long shut and abandoned, then finally turned their attention to his office. The Seventh Bell rang, then the Eighth.

    Slowly they went through folios, correspondence, folders, missives, collections of bills and invoices, and finally, just as Harald was about to give up, he found a small hexagonal gem-encrusted box that had fallen behind a pile of folders.

    ¡°Oh,¡± said Sam. ¡°That¡¯s the container that held the finger amulet. It must have fallen when I put it down. It¡¯s empty, though.¡±

    Harald pursed his lips and opened it. A fitted cushion of black velvet still showed the curled imprint of where Vorakhar¡¯s finger had lain, and a musty scent reminded him of the demon as it had leaned over him.

    What did it mean, that Vorakhar was still alive, when his father¡¯s fame had rested on his claim to have slain the demonic being?

    There is room for merriment here. A continuance of the dance.

    A continuance. What did that mean? That Harald could replace his father as Vorakhar¡¯s sworn foe?

    You could have been so much more than your father.

    His father had never returned from that final raid. Had he gone down to confront Vorakhar and died at the demon¡¯s hands? Had his death disappointed the demon?

    Musing, uneasy, Harald turned the box around in his fingers, then, on impulse, plucked the black cushion free.

    Only to reveal a small envelope trapped against the bottom of the box, neat and square, with ¡®To My Son¡¯ written in faded blue ink upon its face.

 Chapter 19

    Harald froze, staring at the familiar, crabby script. For how long had this envelop sat here? Had his father written it the day he¡¯d descended into his final raid, or years before that, leaving it there for the right moment?

    There was no way of telling.

    ¡°What is it?¡± asked Sam, drawing closer.

    Harald pried the envelop free. Turned it about. Stiff, square, light. It wasn¡¯t sealed. He opened it and drew out a simple card.

    Your inheritance is yours once you are worthy.

    Gustav is the key. Strike with the right energy.

    Kill your masters.

    That was it.

    Harald turned the card about, blinked, felt his heart pounding, pounding, pounding.

    Four years his father had been gone and dead, and now his voice seemed to echo from beyond the grave. Harald heard the words in that familiar voice, cutting and cruel, commanding and brooking no denial.

    He handed it wordlessly to Sam.

    ¡°Gustav?¡± She stared at him, wide eyed. ¡°The training mannequin?¡±

    ¡°Must be. He named it after Gustav the Just when he found out I idolized the fallen king. His idea of humor.¡±

    ¡°The mannequin¡¯s attached to the floor. Perhaps it¡¯s a¡­ lever? Some kind of trigger to open a door?¡±

    Harald took the card back, reread it. ¡°What the fuck, Dad?¡± Did he have to be so obscure? ¡°The ¡®right energy¡¯?¡±

    Sam shrugged. ¡°Perhaps he wanted you to be strong enough? Maybe you have to hit it with enough power?¡±

    ¡°One way to find out,¡± said Harald, and he ran from the room. Down the landing, the stairs, across the hall, to tear down the stairs into the basement and then into the gym.

    The faint radiance of the scale-lanterns bathed everything in a dull, golden glow. Harald walked up to Gustav and stared at the mannequin.

    Faceless, battered, and made from ironwood imported from Mithlorniel, it had been one of Father¡¯s prized possessions. The technique behind its construction was said to come from Dumr?n, but required expertise with which to engage; his Father had strictly forbidden him from ever practicing with it.

    Harald stepped in close. It had a core of living darksteel, observable only at the joints. No legs, just a darksteel strut that could twist and lean and dodge. Its arms hung limply by its side, but Harald had vivid memories of them spinning to life, extending impossibly far to strike at this father, retracting to block, moving so quickly they blurred.

    And the smooth head. Little more than a dark oval of scarred ironwood, yet somehow radiating a sense of intelligence, an impossible aura of power.

    ¡°Father said its weakest setting would break my arms if I messed with it,¡± said Harald.

    ¡°You¡¯ve grown since then.¡±

    ¡°But I don¡¯t even know how to activate it. There are no buttons. I don¡¯t recall his ever speaking words to awaken it or anything.¡±

    ¡°Isn¡¯t it living darksteel?¡± Sam crouched beside the central spoke. ¡°I don¡¯t know much about it, but I don¡¯t think it ever¡­ turns off? You should probably just be able to punch it and it¡¯ll respond.¡±

    ¡°Great.¡± Harald windmilled his arms. ¡°With my fists? A sword?¡±

    Sam glanced at him, equally mystified.

    The idea of punching the ironwood was not appealing.

    ¡°The right energy,¡± he whispered. ¡°That means the living darksteel can read my¡­ intent?¡±

    ¡°It has to be.¡± Sam rose and surveyed the room once more. ¡°But that also means the entrance has to be somewhere in here, right? We overlooked it.¡±

    ¡°If Father went to this length to hide it, knocking on the wall with a hammer won¡¯t do much.¡± Harald blew out his cheeks and raised his fists. ¡°Well. Here goes.¡±

    ¡°Be careful,¡± said Sam helplessly, backing off.

    Harald stepped in close to Gustav. It didn¡¯t move, didn¡¯t betray any sentience. A straight jab to its head? Should he put on sparring gloves to protect his knuckles? No. That was probably the opposite of what his father had imagined when he¡¯d stipulated the ¡®right energy¡¯.

    Harald took a deep breath, and fear twisting his innards, stepped in and jabbed Gustav in the head.

    It felt like punching the wall. At the last second he checked his blow, and still it stung, pain flaring in his wrist and knuckles.

    Gustav didn¡¯t respond.

    ¡°Damn it,¡± hissed Harald, shaking out his hand. He stepped in closer, adopted a fighting stance, and then tried for a light combination of blows, a round-house at the chest, uppercut at the breadbasket, a couple of jabs and then a slightly harder cross to the face.

    He accomplished nothing but hurting his hand.

    Gustav ignored him.

    ¡°The card said ¡®once you are worthy¡¯,¡± said Sam. ¡°Perhaps you need to get stronger. It might be keyed to how hard you can hit it?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not good.¡± Harald backed away, rubbing at his hand. ¡°Unless I try a sword strike? Dad would fight it with weapons.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve had three days training.¡±

    ¡°You think Countess Sonora will care?¡± Harald strode over to Vic¡¯s training bags. They kept them down here when not drilling. He opened one and pulled out his dull training longsword. Considered it, then returned it in favor of the scabbarded blade he¡¯d never yet used, the one with a live edge.

    He pulled the plain scabbard off and admired the sword¡¯s length, how light it felt yet how vicious.

    ¡°Do you want me to get your own sword?¡± Sam still sounded dubious. ¡°The expensive one?¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s try with this first,¡± said Harald softly. ¡°That sword¡­ it feels like it belongs to the old Harald.¡±

    He moved to stand before the mannequin and adopted the Tower stance that Vic had taught him. Blade vertical, hands with a gap between them, shoulders back, chest puffed out.

    Was it his imagination, or did he feel like he suddenly had Gustav¡¯s attention?

    ¡°Follow the blade,¡± said Sam softly. ¡°Strike and pull back.¡±

    ¡°Right.¡± Harald inhaled, then let out a cry and stepped forward, swinging in a diagonal slash at the mannequin¡¯s chest.

    The blade flashed then clanged against the iron wood, bouncing off as if on a shield. Harald, breathing sharply, leaped back, expecting the arms to whirl around and strike him.

    Nothing.

    ¡°I saw them shiver,¡± called Sam excitedly. ¡°Just before you hit.¡±

    Harald blew out his cheeks. ¡°So it felt the blow coming in and didn¡¯t bother to respond?¡±

    ¡°Well.¡± Sam shrugged. ¡°You¡¯ve only been training for a handful of days. Your father probably didn¡¯t think that enough.¡±

    ¡°I need to unlock the vault.¡± Harald glared balefully at the innocuous Gustav. ¡°I need to prove my worth before the duel, or by whatever deadline the Countess Sonora gives me.¡±

    ¡°Then -¡± began Sam, but Harald stepped forward again and this time struck with savage anger. The blade flashed, clanged off Gustav, and sent a jarring vibration down its length into his hands.

    ¡°Nothing that time,¡± said Sam.

    Harald closed his eyes. He summoned Ustim¡¯s sneer to mind. Thought of the man¡¯s betrayal, his con.

    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

    Anger stirred within him.

    Then he summoned Yeoric¡¯s visage. Thought on how the bully had pushed him around, squeezed his shoulder, lorded his physical superiority over him.

    The sparks of his anger grew and became a flame.

    His father, four years gone, leaving nothing but a cryptic note that taunted his inability.

    Lucine¡¯s cruel laughter. Evernessa¡¯s false flirtation.

    Vic dealing with him as Victor Carmine.

    This whole city, obsessed with scales and power at all costs.

    Anger suffused him. But it still wasn¡¯t enough. So he thought on his own stupid, round, ugly face. His belly, his weakness, the way he¡¯d gasp and cough as he puked after pushing too hard these past few days. His pathetic stats, his life spent whining, his excuses, his weakness, his wasted potential.

    He thought of Vorakhar taking advantage of him after he¡¯d been savaged to death by rats.

    Harald¡¯s eyes snapped open and with a cry he burst forward. He swung the blade with all his strength, pushing it forward, slashing at Gustav¡¯s ironwood torso, chest out, shoulders back, manifesting his strength -

    Gustav blurred, spun, and a battering ram smashed into Harald¡¯s shoulder with enough force to send him tumbling to the side. He lost his grip on the sword as he fell to the mat, rolled over and ended up on his back.

    ¡°Harald!¡± Sam was immediately by his side. ¡°Your arm, is it¡­?¡±

    Harald lifted his right arm, flexed it. The pain was horrendous, his forearm and hand numb. ¡°Not broken. Almost, I think.¡±

    ¡°It moved so quickly. I couldn¡¯t even warn you.¡±

    Harald forced himself to sit up, cradling his arm to his chest. He glared at Gustav. Wished it had a face so he could focus on something.

    But no. Just a bland, much abused wooden mannequin.

    That had been his best. He¡¯d summoned all his energy, his anger, his ability for violence, and he¡¯d gotten the mannequin to respond.

    But no door had opened. No trapdoor manifested.

    Nothing.

    ¡°I¡¯ve got a lot to learn,¡± he grated. ¡°And very little time to do it.¡±

    ¡°Here you are,¡± said Vic, entering the gymnasium with a smile. ¡°And training at blades! Ho ho, don¡¯t tell me this means you¡¯ve not found the vault and are hoping to instead simply win the bout?¡±

    ¡°We got a clue,¡± said Harald reluctantly. ¡°Did Countess Sonora back the loan?¡±

    ¡°Of course she did.¡± Vic beamed down at him, hands on his hips. ¡°She just adores me. The second I crooked my finger she came running, undoing her purse strings with unseemly haste. Her father, were he alive, would have been horrified.¡±

    ¡°Is that so?¡± Sam crossed her arms.

    ¡°All is indeed resolved. The Horizon¡¯s Whisper has been secured, but the Lady, well. She had her own terms.¡±

    ¡°What terms?¡± asked Harald.

    ¡°A gradated repayment table. Beginning tomorrow at Six Bell you¡¯ll owe her an Aurora Veil Driftshell for each day that passes as interest.¡±

    ¡°Wait,¡± said Sam. ¡°One per day?¡±

    ¡°Why, Sam, it¡¯s a sweet deal. Harry-boy here assured me that there was a vault laden with scales on the premises. If you repay her tomorrow, you¡¯ll have secured a hundred thousand Copper Moon loan for only a thousand.¡±

    ¡°But if we don¡¯t?¡± Sam¡¯s shoulders slumped. ¡°Two months¡¯ of accrued interest will be almost an entirely new Horizon¡¯s Whisper. If Harald wins, he¡¯ll have to give both of Yeoric¡¯s scales to her.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a cruel world,¡± said Vic with a lazy smile, ¡°and Countess Sonora has been forced to become cut throat in order to survive its iniquities. Also: it¡¯s a done deal. The paperwork is upstairs and ready for your signature. But tell me: you have a clue? And it apparently involves training with blades?¡±

    ¡°Here,¡± said Harald, drawing his father¡¯s card from his doublet and holding it out to Vic, who scanned it then stared at Harald in confusion. ¡°Gustav is the name of this mannequin. I¡¯ve been trying to strike it with the ¡®right energy¡¯, whatever that means. I¡¯ve only been knocked on my ass for my efforts, though.¡±

    ¡°Fascinating.¡± Vic studied Gustav. ¡°Why, this is a delightful little machine. I hadn¡¯t noticed it before.¡±

    ¡°It has a core of living darksteel,¡± said Sam reluctantly. ¡°The body is ironwood.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t pretend to know much about all that, but I do have some experience with training dummies.¡± Vic glanced at Harald with a smile. ¡°Perhaps I can give it a try? If all that¡¯s needed is a forceful blow, then I¡¯m sure I can provide.¡±

    ¡°Have at it,¡± said Harald, despite his misgivings. He wanted to be the one to conquer the mannequin. He wanted to be the one that passed his Father¡¯s trial.

    But Countess Sonora¡¯s repayment schedule made it too expensive to console his pride.

    ¡°A little room, if you will,¡± said Vic, drawing his rapier with a flourish. ¡°This could get flashy.¡±

    Harald rose, still holding his near-broke arm, and together with Sam drew back almost to the wall.

    Vic eased himself into a combat crouch, feet shoulder width apart, the heels in line, his blade rising to point at the mannequin¡¯s chest. The blade was long, beautifully crafted, and looked an extension of Vic¡¯s arm, which trembled not at all.

    For a moment all was still, and somehow, in a way he couldn¡¯t define, Harald felt an intensity build up around Vic the second before he lunged.

    His forward foot snapped forward as he pushed off, knee moving over his foot as his arm extended, driving the point of his rapier directly into the mannequin¡¯s chest.

    But the speed. One moment Vic was simply standing there, at ease, and then a lurid blue flame wreathed his sword, ghostly and barely visible, and he lunged with explosive power.

    Gustav rotated and bowed back so that Vic¡¯s strike missed, its arm swinging around with wicked speed. But Vic recovered by pushing off his front foot, springing back and twisting to avoid the blow.

    Flickerflash and it was over, Vic laughing delightedly as he paced back and forth, slashing at the air with his blade, eyes locked on the mannequin.

    ¡°Why! What a delight. It¡¯s not an artless dummy after all. Let us try again!¡±

    And this time he dropped into a deeper stance, blade rising before him, and again he lunged, blade burning blue, but this time when Gustav bowed away Vic was ready, and raised his rapier to block a blurring blow.

    Harald lost track of what took place next. There were a series of clacks as Vic moved with unparalleled speed and dexterity, parrying and ducking Gustav¡¯s blows as his own slashes and thrusts probed the mannequin¡¯s defenses.

    Gustav swung at Vic from both sides, but the swordsman blocked and fended off the attacks by forming a defensive barrier of rapid, interlocking parries, blocks which he then turned into attacks, so that when he deflected a blow he was able to thrust and press his own strikes once more.

    One, two, three seconds was all it took. Vic swerved and leaned, ducked and lunged, and then his rapier point slammed home into Gustav¡¯s chest, its length briefly burning blue once more as the sword flexed.

    Vic leaped back with a slightly breathier laugh, and put up his blade, brows raised as he glanced about them.

    Nothing.

    ¡°That was a palpable blow!¡± protested Vic. ¡°I struck it with enough force to pierce a man in a full suit of armor. Come on!¡±

    They all gazed about the gym.

    Nothing.

    ¡°Bah,¡± said Vic, slashing his blade in annoyance. ¡°Perhaps your father intended you to disinter the old king and mutilate his corpse.¡±

    ¡°No, it has to be this Gustav.¡± Harald shook out his arm.

    Sam looked pensive. ¡°It has to be that ¡®right energy¡¯ line. Perhaps it¡¯s keyed to Harald¡¯s essence in some way, and will only open to him?¡±

    ¡°Well, you¡¯ll have to progress rapidly with your training,¡± said Vic, sheathing his blade. ¡°If you lose to Yeoric we¡¯ll both be in deep water, and that I can¡¯t abide.¡±

    ¡°Both?¡± asked Harald.

    ¡°Yes.¡± Vic narrowed his eyes. ¡°Part of my convincing Countess Sonora to countenance this loan was agreeing to punitive terms of service should you fail to find the vault and lose to Yeoric. Which, may I add, is therefor no longer an option. We¡¯ll either find this vault, or I shall employ every trick and stratagem I¡¯ve ever learned to help you win that duel.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, Vic.¡± Harald tried not to feel touched. ¡°I appreciate it.¡±

    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t get all melodramatic on me.¡± Vic scowled. ¡°This is a wager on my part, one that should¡ªand will¡ªprove remarkably lucrative. I agree that there is a hidden room somewhere in this house. All we need do is train you to the point where you¡¯re able to make Gustav here reveal the vault to us all. We¡¯ve two months in which to do so. Surely your father didn¡¯t expect you to become a hero out of legend first.¡±

    ¡°Right.¡± Harald stared at Gustav. ¡°I just need to hit it the right way and it¡¯ll surely unlock the door. Then we pay off Countess Sonora, and I can focus on defeating Yeoric and getting my scales back.¡±

    ¡°Not to mention using whatever wealth is in this vault to Ascend your Throne,¡± said Vic. ¡°We¡¯re going to need to do that as soon as possible. It will empower whatever class actives and passives you unlock, and give you an edge over poor, lumbering Yeoric, who is somehow still laboring with one Throne.¡±

    ¡°I need a Zenith Tide for that,¡± said Harald ruefully.

    ¡°Which we can get from the auction,¡± piped in Sam, eyes gleaming. ¡°That can go through now that Ustim can¡¯t lock down our resources. Perhaps that¡¯s what¡¯s needed for Harald to force Gustav to reveal the vault: he needs a class and an Ascended Throne to go with it.¡±

    ¡°By instinct I want to mock everything you say,¡± allowed Vic, ¡°but that does have the ring of truth to it. So, we have a plan.¡±

    ¡°This was meant to be my sixth day,¡± said Harald. ¡°Has that changed?¡±

    ¡°Oh Harry-boy, do try to keep up.¡± Vic¡¯s smile was pitying. ¡°We are now business partners in this venture. Of course everything has changed. It has gone from a merely personal endeavor to one with immensely lucrative potential. We¡¯re going to skip days six and seven, and go right to the heart of your training.¡±

    ¡°Me included,¡± said Sam.

    Vic rolled his eyes. ¡°Unfortunately, yes, the help will also benefit from my wisdom.¡±

    Sam narrowed her eyes.

    ¡°We shall proceed as follows: tomorrow you¡¯ll begin to train under a proper instructor who has had copious experience with the longsword. She¡¯ll be coming here to continue your instruction, whereas I shall assume a more managerial role, taking note of your progress and identifying weaknesses. Sam, you will assist Harald in losing weight, gaining strength, and developing the elan that he currently lacks. We must also ensure that he is getting sufficient food and rest; each seventh day will be one of enforced idleness, so that our boy here can consolidate his gains and recover.¡±

    Harald tried not to feel a sense of rising excitement. But the prospect was thrilling.

    ¡°Now, this training will do wonders for his physical stats,¡± continued Vic, ¡°but that is simply not enough. In time, high level sword instruction may unlock a class, but we don¡¯t have the luxury of waiting for the Fallen Angel to take notice. No. We must accelerate the process by engaging in that time honored tradition of instigating the bestowal of a class.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re going into the dungeon?¡± asked Sam, face lighting up with excitement.

    ¡°We are indeed.¡± Vic¡¯s smile was feline with its predator amusement. ¡°Nothing, absolutely nothing expedites the awarding of a class like putting your life on the line. I¡¯ll do a little research and determine which level would be best. It must be sufficiently lethal that Harald is pushed to his limits, but not so dangerous that he¡¯s killed out of hand.¡±

    Harald took a deep, shuddering breath. ¡°All right. New instructor tomorrow, a refined training regimen, more food, more rest, and then a dungeon raid soon.¡±

    ¡°Precisely.¡± Vic smiled. ¡°Then, as soon as we¡¯ve stripped this old house of everything of value, we¡¯ll get you to absorb a Zenith Tide and Ascend your Throne. Which should, if all goes well, lead to your opening your father¡¯s mystical vault, and general merriment and celebration for all.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± said Harald, fierce determination rising within him. ¡°Absolutely.¡±

    ¡°Good.¡± Vic glanced at Sam. ¡°Oh, you¡¯d best see to preparing our new instructor¡¯s room. She¡¯s quite particular about cleanliness.¡±

    Sam swallowed down her irritation. ¡°All right. I¡¯ll see to it now.¡±

    ¡°And we¡¯d best hide the remaining wine bottles,¡± added Vic. ¡°You do know how Evernessa likes to drink. We wouldn¡¯t want to sabotage her ability to teach.¡±

    ¡°Evernessa?¡± Harald gaped. ¡°She¡¯s going to be my instructor?¡±

    ¡°Of course, Harry-boy!¡± Vic wrapped his arm around Harald¡¯s shoulders and began guiding him out of the gym. ¡°There are only two things she can do better than play her fiddle, and one of them is swing a longsword.¡± Vic grinned wolfishly. ¡°Why do you think they cast her out of the Conservatory?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d no idea,¡± said Harald, trying to imagine the dark-haired Evernessa swinging a blade.

    ¡°Oh, there is so much about this world that you don¡¯t know, despite my efforts these past four years.¡± Vic laughed and gave Harald a push. ¡°It¡¯s going to be an absolute delight to open your eyes.¡±

 Chapter 20

    The pre-dawn run had almost begun to feel normal.

    Sam would rouse him just before Sixth Bell. How she awoke he had no idea, but each morning she¡¯d shake his shoulder, and wordless, he¡¯d rise to don his training gear, laid out the night before.

    Shivering and stumbling down through the gloom of the unlit house, he¡¯d meet Sam at the front door where she¡¯d hand him a fruit and cup of water. He¡¯d toss the water back, then eat the fruit as they strode down the gravel drive, the crunch of their footsteps all that could be heard in this dead bell of the city.

    Out the gate, and from there they¡¯d fall into a slow jog, muscles sore, body aching, but each dawn a little less.

    Each dawn he found the cruel, biting air more invigorating, and his body more responsive to his will.

    Not that his muscles and joints had ceased to complain; it¡¯s just that by the fourth morning run he¡¯d learned to tune them out. To trust that their lamentations would grow quiet as he warmed up, and to know that he could force his body on.

    To the mist-strewn park. The lawns were clothed in banks of the finest white fog, soon to be burned away by the sun. The trees were dark and held amidst their boughs a deep and earthen scent that Harald had found nowhere else in the city. The grass glistened with dew as if flecked with glass. The few runners who were out at this hour had begun to feel less like judgmental mockers and more like fellow warriors; they acknowledged Sam on occasion, who¡¯d been coming out to make this run for years, but still, slowly, tentatively, Harald was allowing to think himself one of their number.

    The stitch didn¡¯t dig into his side as immediately as before. He was able to get a full lap around the park before he began to labor, to breathe more shallowly, to sweat.

    It was still work.

    Hard work.

    The warmth and buoyancy would only last about a lap or two, and then the invisible mud would begin to rise to mire his feet, to make each stride a growing effort.

    But Harald recognized progress. He was Constitution 6, and that gave him just a little more speed, a little more staying power.

    Sam was serious during these morning runs. She didn¡¯t jest or banter or comment on the day before. Harald wanted nothing more than to discuss Evernessa¡¯s arrival, but Sam¡¯s sober, focused expression cut him off as always.

    Running was a form of meditation for her, he¡¯d come to realize. A silent hour when nobody and nothing had any claim on her mind and spirit but the needs of her long muscles and athletic frame. She¡¯d always run the first lap with him, and just as he began to slow, she¡¯d finish her warm-up and lengthen her stride, leaving him behind.

    That day, as he passed a pocket lawn known as the Fisherman¡¯s Well for its tiny pond, Harald saw a small gathering of people listening to a man in the long azure and black robes of a Seraphite of the Fallen Angel. He stood on the bench, his arms outstretched, his gaunt face striking in the gloom.

    Curious, Harald slowed and then stopped, leaving the path to draw closer.

    The man¡¯s voice was unnervingly impassioned, clashing with the dawn¡¯s hallowed stillness.

    ¡°We labor, but for what cause? We race, but to where? Blinded by the needs of our mortal flesh, we moan and struggle, convinced that we are the masters of our own lives, but the moment we believe that¡­ we are lost. When will we raise our eyes to the heavens and realize that within our bodies we are consubstantial with the Fallen Angel itself? That our very ability to absorb its scales, to feast on its carcass, makes of us as holy as its fallen self?¡±

    The crowd listening to him was perhaps seven or eight strong, and they seemed enraptured by the man¡¯s fervor.

    ¡°The Fallen Angel cast itself to earth, burying itself fathoms deep in the rocky mantle so as to provide us with sustenance. Yet what do we make of its bounty, what do we do with its precious scales? Like beasts we anoint ourselves with them, bind them to our brows as marks of wealth and power, and seek to leverage our ownership of divinity over the rest of humanity. How else should we gaze upon those noble houses who hoard the scales, who use their greatest finds as testament of their nobility, but with horror? Our solemn obligation is to consume the Fallen Angel, and in so doing, elevate ourselves and sanctify its gift!¡±

    Harald took a step back. This was an extreme ideology, a heretical splinter of the common Angelus strain he¡¯d heard in countless Mausoleums of the Fallen Angel as a child, when he¡¯d been dragged there by his mother.

    But his retreat drew the Seraphite¡¯s attention. The man glared at him, then his eyes widened. ¡°You there! Why do you reek of filth? In what mud have you dragged your spirit?¡±

    The crowd turned to eye him, and Harald felt a spike of panic.

    Nobody liked being singled out by the Seraphites, and this man¡¯s words were danger.

    Harald stepped back onto the path.

    ¡°You!¡± The Seraphite¡¯s voice rang clear. ¡°Come to me so that I may shrive your soul! You are imperiled! I can scent your rot from here! You!¡±

    Harald took off at a run, and in moments had left the Fisherman¡¯s Well behind in the shadows and mist.

    What the hell had that been about? His soul reeked? Could the Seraphite sense the Demon Seed?

    Terrified, Harald glanced behind him, half-expecting to see the Seraphite chasing after him, robes streaming, gangly limbs pumping, clawed hand extended.

    Heart hammering, he settled down to a slower jog, thoughts whirling. He¡¯d not kept abreast of religious matters, had ultimately decided, like his father, that these disagreements and schisms were both inevitable and faintly ridiculous, seeing as nobody could claim to have spoken with the Fallen Angel in centuries.

    But an attack on the very foundation of the noble houses was serious business. The division between church and state was a tenuous one, but both traditionally agreed to avert their gazes from their respective practices.

    A Seraphite calling for the houses to consume all their scales?

    Harald was surprised the guard hadn¡¯t been called.

    He ran on, his momentary boost slowly abating, and by the time he reached the park¡¯s entrance he was gasping and sweating as ever. But there he stopped till Sam came running lightly in to view, the sky already lightening to a soft blue, the light slowly turning golden.

    ¡°What is it?¡± she asked, only slightly breathless.

    ¡°I caught the eye of a Seraphite preaching in at the Fisherman¡¯s.¡± Harald raked his fingers through this short hair. ¡°I think I¡¯d best steer clear of the park for now.¡±

    Sam sighed, glanced along the path, then shrugged. ¡°All right. We¡¯ll supplement with something else at home. What did he say?¡±

    Harald told her as they walked home.

    ¡°An Essentialist,¡± she said in surprise. ¡°It¡¯s an old creed come again. There¡¯s been a revival of the ¡®old ways¡¯ these past few years, in reaction, I think, to the drying up of the scales brought back from the raids.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re¡­¡± Harald hesitated, unsure how to ask without offending. ¡°Ah, religious?¡±

    Sam stared at him. ¡°Harald. We live and breathe only to worship the Fallen Angel. Every moment is a sacrament in her honor. What do you mean, am I religious?¡±

    Stolen story; please report.

    Harald stared at her in horror until she cracked up and bent over, laughing. ¡°Oh, your face! No, I¡¯m not ¡®religious¡¯. Not in that way. I mean, I accept the basic credo and all that, but, well.¡± She shrugged. ¡°I¡¯ll take it more seriously if the Fallen Angel ever decides to have a word with me.¡±

    ¡°Oh good,¡± said Harald. ¡°You scared the crap out of me. I¡¯ve been discovering so many sides to you that ¡®religious fanatic¡¯ would only complete the transformation.¡±

    ¡°But seriously, an Essentialist here in the Angelic Quarter? That¡¯s alarming. Watch an Inquisitor be sent to shut them up.¡±

    ¡°Not our problem,¡± said Harald, glancing behind them. ¡°At least, that¡¯s how I want to keep it.¡±

    I can scent your rot from here!

    What rot? The man was mad. Harald put him out of his mind, and decided to not think on him again.

    * * *

    Evernessa arrived just after breakfast, opening the front door without knocking and calling out her hello.

    Harald led the way out from the kitchen, and there she was, wearing leather breeches, a peasant¡¯s blouse cinched around her narrow waist with a broad belt, and her mass of dark curls gathered back by a band of gold to then cascade down her back.

    Evernessa. For years he¡¯d dreamed of daring her to be more than his friend, had watched her through so many late night revelries, admiring her confidence, her casual cruelty, her wry wit, her natural beauty. Such was her charm that she could look as devastating in a bathrobe as she could a ballgown; she had that careless charisma, that laughing confidence, that dark allure that made everything she did, every pose she took, every moment of distraction or fixation just as fascinating and arresting.

    She smiled at the sight of the three of them, her features drawn, her gray eyes ringed with shadows. ¡°And here I am, as promised.¡± She spread her arms, her smile mocking, and gave a shallow curtsy. ¡°My bags are at the base of the steps. Sam, be a dear and fetch them?¡±

    ¡°Sam¡¯s free of her oath,¡± said Harald. ¡°A lot¡¯s changed this past week.¡±

    Evernessa raised one finely arched brow. ¡°Freed? It would seem congratulations are in order, then. Still, I¡¯m tired. Could somebody fetch my bags?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll do it,¡± sighed Sam, striding forward. ¡°Before Vic orders me to as his ¡®disciple¡¯.¡±

    ¡°I said not a word!¡± protested Vic, putting his hand to his chest. ¡°But welcome, Nessa, to our cozy little home. It¡¯s been a dream, living together like this. You¡¯re going to adore it. All the wine you can drink, the run of the house, and what¡¯s more, Harald will now do whatever you say as long as you can convince him it¡¯s training.¡±

    Harald felt his cheeks burn as Nessa chuckled throatily. She made her way forward, moving with great deliberation, and as she drew near the reek of a night on the town came with her, that of wine, yearnsmoke, and who knew what tavern. She placed her palm on his cheek and leaned in. ¡°You always were so accommodating, weren¡¯t you, Harald? I¡­ I¡­¡±

    Nessa¡¯s eyes abruptly rolled up in her head as her legs gave out. Harald grabbed hold of her as she sagged, and then Vic was there, helping pull her over to one of the chairs set against the wall.

    ¡°Darling,¡± said Vic, tone hushed as he checked her pulse. ¡°What have you been doing? Don¡¯t tell me you were at the Black Rose last night?¡±

    ¡°Hmm?¡± Nessa turned her head away, her full lips pulling into a smile. ¡°Of course not. Never. And even if I was, I¡¯m not there now, am I? I¡¯m here. With Harry.¡± And her eyes fluttered as she smiled up at him.

    Her skin was tight over her cheekbones, and her lips pale.

    ¡°The gods damn it,¡± muttered Vic, pulling her sleeve back down. ¡°She needs rest and water. Darling, you were supposed to work today. You¡¯re of no use to us like this.¡±

    She closed her eyes as she struggled to sit up. ¡°I can work. Just you watch. I brought all my blades. Anyone who thinks otherwise¡­ they can¡­¡±

    Vic sighed and straightened. In a matter of moments Nessa had fallen asleep, her head rolling to one side.

    ¡°I suppose we¡¯ll have to carry her to bed,¡± said Vic.

    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± asked Harald quietly. ¡°What¡¯s the Black Rose?¡±

    ¡°A place for idiots,¡± said Vic, tone tight with barely constrained anger. ¡°And she swore she¡¯d never return. Well. If she doesn¡¯t get her act together, we may need to find you a new tutor.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t be a fool,¡± said Nessa, her eyes still closed. ¡°Even like this I can outfence anyone in Flutic.¡±

    ¡°Now that¡¯s a bald lie.¡± Vic bent to scoop her up in his arms. ¡°Come on, Harry-boy, let¡¯s get her upstairs. Sam? Sam! Bring warm salted water. We¡¯re going to have to purge this idiot if she¡¯s to be of any use to us.¡±

    Sam had just appeared in the doorway, two carpet bags in hand, and stared in confusion at the scene. ¡°What happened?¡±

    ¡°Warm salted water, if you will. Harry? Lead on.¡±

    They climbed to the second floor, and placed Nessa in the room Sam had prepared for her. Vic unlaced and tugged off her knee-high boots, but when he considered the rest of her clothing he scowled. ¡°Damn it.¡±

    ¡°Vic.¡± Harald pulled him away. ¡°She¡¯s not just exhausted or drunk. What¡¯s going on?¡±

    Vic sighed, cut an angry glance at where Nessa lay, then shook his head. ¡°She¡¯s a fondness and weakness both for angel¡¯s glory.¡±

    Harald¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°She does glory?¡±

    ¡°Oh calm down, she¡¯s hardly the only one. But yes.¡± Vic bit the corner of his lip. ¡°Though she¡¯d sworn to me that she was done. Do you recall some four months ago when she and I disappeared for several weeks? You were driven half-mad with loneliness?¡±

    ¡°Yes. I started asking around. Nobody knew where you were.¡±

    ¡°I was helping her get off the glory.¡± Vic¡¯s expression was hard and angry and saddened both. ¡°It wasn¡¯t pretty, Harry-boy. But she swore she was done, and it¡¯s not as if I¡¯m her mother. When I saw her yesterday afternoon, she was fine. Fiddling away in her apartment. She¡¯d signed up for another audition to enter the Conservatory, said she was done with the violence. That it was¡­ banal.¡±

    ¡°And¡­ what? You think this job tipped her over?¡±

    ¡°Perhaps. When I told her how much it might pay, her eyes lit up like bonfires. I thought it mere greed. But now look at her.¡±

    Nessa¡¯s black curls were spread across the pillow, one hand curled before her face, her breathing shallow and rapid, her brow covered with a sheen of sweat. She looked fevered.

    ¡°Fuck,¡± said Vic.

    Harald felt lost. His whole life he¡¯d enjoyed skirting around the edges of Flutic¡¯s true dives, escorted by Vic and his friends who seemed perfectly at home in even the most dangerous corners of the metropolis. But his father¡¯s rank disdain for drugs had made an impression on him; even when most tempted he¡¯d never done more than a puff or two of yearnsmoke.

    To think Nessa, who¡¯d always seemed so perfectly in control of herself, so confident and assured and disdainful of the world, to be doing angel¡¯s glory¡­

    Sam entered the room with an empty bowl and large pitcher in hand.

    ¡°There,¡± said Vic. ¡°Well, Harald, I¡¯ll put it to you: do we do our best by Nessa, and try to get her on her feet, or shall we kick her out on her ass when she wakes up so that we may hunt for another instructor?¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong with her?¡± asked Sam.

    Harald told her in.

    If anything, Sam was even more shocked, and drew back from Nessa as if she were contagious. ¡°Angel¡¯s glory? There¡¯s no curing that. And we don¡¯t have the time or energy to help her.¡±

    ¡°True,¡± said Vic. ¡°Now, Harald, imagine Nessa was a corpulent man of fifty years called Blogbert. What would you decide then?¡±

    ¡°Good point,¡± said Sam. ¡°Harald¡¯s always been taken by Nessa. He¡¯ll agree to help her because he¡¯s smitten.¡±

    Harald crossed his arms. There was so much on the line. So little time. And angel¡¯s glory was infamous for how many people it had killed since appearing in the city a decade ago.

    ¡°Vic, tell me honestly. How good a teacher is she?¡±

    ¡°At her best?¡± Vic considered. ¡°Excellent. She¡¯s a Level 4 Bladeweaver, but beyond that she¡¯s a knack for conveying knowledge. Probably part of her bardic talent. And honestly, we¡¯re getting her at a sharp discount, given that I know that she¡¯s broke and depends on me for business.¡±

    ¡°How much are you paying her?¡± asked Sam suspiciously.

    ¡°None of your business, my upstart maid. Regardless, she¡¯s not at her best.¡±

    ¡°No.¡± Harald rubbed at his jaw. ¡°Did she seem high when you spoke to her yesterday? Or show any signs of having done glory?¡±

    ¡°No. Though I¡¯m no medic, and Nessa is an actress nonpareil. Still, I¡¯ve known her for seven years now. I think not.¡±

    ¡°Then¡­ I don¡¯t know how this all works, but could she just have relapsed for one night?¡±

    ¡°Oh Harald.¡± Vic¡¯s gaze was pitying. ¡°You¡¯re reaching for justifications, aren¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°I told you,¡± said Sam.

    ¡°This is what we¡¯re going to do.¡± Harald licked his lower lip, thoughts coalescing. ¡°We¡¯ll make her an offer when she wakes up. She can stay here, live here, teach Sam and me, on the condition that she not do angel¡¯s glory. The moment she does, she¡¯s out. Furthermore, we¡¯re going to ensure there¡¯s no temptation. She won¡¯t be allowed to leave the house without one of us escorting her.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯ll never agree to that,¡± said Vic.

    ¡°Then she¡¯s welcome to leave, and Sam and I will hunt down that Eadwulf instructor her smith told her about.¡±

    ¡°Ooh, an ultimatum,¡± said Vic. ¡°You know those are only as effective as their enforcement? What¡¯s to stop her from shimmying up to you as she¡¯s always done, putting her hand on your chest and with just the largest, most sorrowful eyes begging for your forgiveness? I¡¯ll be frank, it wouldn¡¯t be the first or tenth or hundredth time she¡¯s wrapped you around her finger.¡±

    ¡°I know.¡± Harald shook his head morosely. ¡°I can¡¯t count how many scales I¡¯ve ¡®loaned¡¯ her over the years. But this time is different. She¡¯ll get one chance, and one chance alone. And if she lies or breaks our agreement? Then it¡¯s over.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re making a mistake,¡± said Sam, tone flat. ¡°She can¡¯t be trusted.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s only one way to find out. But if she¡¯s as good as Vic says, and she¡¯s willing to try, I¡¯ll give her a chance. And no. I won¡¯t lie. She¡¯s a friend. We¡¯ve known each other for four years now. If she¡¯s willing to do her part, then I¡¯m willing to risk it.¡±

    ¡°Never change, darling,¡± said Vic, patting Harald on the shoulder. ¡°That way you¡¯ll always be a source of wealth and good times for me and mine. Now, both of you, out. I must begin the singularly unpleasant business of purging our dark angel, and you won¡¯t want to see what that involves. Only come in if I call for you, understood? Ignore whatever sounds emanate from this room otherwise. Even if it does sound like I¡¯m killing her.¡±

    Harald hesitated, but when Sam nodded firmly, he did the same.

    ¡°We¡¯ll be in the gym doing our exercises,¡± said Sam. ¡°The perfect opportunity for me to work out my frustrations on this bonehead.¡±

    ¡°Call us if you need help,¡± said Harald weakly. ¡°Good luck.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s precious little luck involved,¡± sighed Vic, unbutton his cuff. ¡°Just an iron stomach, deaf ears, and a heart of stone.¡±

    Harald paused at the threshold. For a moment he stared at Evernessa¡¯s peaceful face, and then he grimaced, stepped outside, and closed the door behind him.

 Chapter 21

    It took two days for Nessa to get her shit together.

    That first night culminated in her screaming in rage around Third Bell at Vic, demanding he release her. Their argument was fierce and ongoing right till Sam suggested they leave a few bells early for their morning run.

    The darkness was a balm. Harald ran, pre-occupied, interrogating himself. Sam was distant, frustrated, clearly believing him a fool.

    But was he?

    Memories of the past few years slid through his mind. Nessa at the masquerade ball, laughing as she walked atop the metal railing three stories above the courtyard below. That one tender night they¡¯d shared at his house after everyone else had fallen asleep, the two of them watching each other by the firelight, and she¡¯d offered him blunt advice on how to turn his life around, had hinted that he could be great, only to fall asleep as he¡¯d mustered the courage to move closer. Her wild laughter, her studied moments of inscrutable detachment, her beauty, her bouts of self-loathing, the way her face changed when she lost herself to the music of her fiddle.

    Evernessa.

    Harald grimaced and tried to run faster. To use the pain and ache of his body as some form of penance.

    He should just cut her loose. Let her figure out her own problems. Not only was this not the time to be infatuated, but she¡¯d never consider him a partner. He was Harald, and all that entailed. He no longer had any illusions about his looks, the figure he cut, his presence, his anything.

    But still.

    This was his second chance.

    Was it so wrong to give her one, too?

    Harald pounded around the park, ungainly and heavy, but finally realized a new truth: if she squandered this chance, it was on her. The old Harald might have made excuses for her, given her third and fourth and fifth chances, but he knew that now, today, he wouldn¡¯t.

    It might break his heart, but if she insisted on throwing her life away on glory, he wouldn¡¯t make that his responsibility.

    This resolve felt at once tragic and absolute. It buoyed his spirits and affirmed his new path, such that he felt invigorated despite the lack of sleep, and put new focus on his pace. Did he feel faster? More resilient? He made it around the park three times before slowing down, and Sam only lapped him twice.

    Breathing heavily, he refused to slow to a walk, and simply eased up to a light jog, but kept going.

    Second chances.

    Did it hurt that Evernessa was gorgeous and mysterious and mocking and vulnerable all at the same time? No.

    But that wouldn¡¯t help her if she refused his offer or broke it.

    His number one commitment was to get strong, to maximize his potential, limited as it might be, and nothing, not even his fanciful dreams and midnight yearnings might stop him.

    Sam finally lapped him, light as a deer, and this time Harald decided to try and keep up.

    She glanced at him in surprise as he powered up alongside her, an avalanche to her light-footed step, her surprise turning into amusement as he puffed and worked his arms.

    ¡°Look at you,¡± she said, barely out of breath. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t you be having a heart attack by now?¡±

    He couldn¡¯t respond. Couldn¡¯t keep this up for long. But he opened his stride, forced his breathing to deepen, wiped away the streams of sweat, and thought of all the wasted evenings, the lost mornings, the hours wiled away in self-pity, the lies he¡¯d told himself half-heartedly.

    Thought of Evernessa, eyelids fluttering.

    Thought on how he was going to have to cast her out soon.

    There was no way she would resist the allure of glory.

    And that pain girded his resolve, so that he ignored his stitch, his tight chest, his aching legs, and he put on speed.

    Damn this world. Damn its injustices and cruelties. Damn Ustim and Yeoric. Damn the purveyors of glory and the noble houses.

    Damn his own weakness.

    Damn his soft body.

    He left Sam behind.

    Harder and harder he ran, gasping, opening his pace to a sprint. The trees blurred by in the gloom. He leaned around the curves. He was barely breathing now. Just running on anger. He had seconds left before reality brought him crashing down.

    But anger melded with his resolve, and he just kept going.

    On and on around the park, as fast as he could.

    He thought of that night by the fireplace, the light causing Nessa¡¯s long hair to gleam almost blue, her chin on her chest, long lashes on her cheek.

    How he¡¯d yearned to reach out for her hand.

    How he¡¯d been too afraid, knowing she¡¯d laugh him off.

    But how he should have tried anyway.

    Weakness.

    Everywhere, weakness.

    His legs were on fire, his muscles seizing up. He couldn¡¯t breathe. Despite his savage will, his body began to give in. He slowed, and then abruptly stopped, staggered to the side of the path, and bent over to heave and gasp, spitting and laboring to catch his breath.

    Sam came up a moment later, stopped by his side, hand on his back. ¡°Harald?¡±

    He screwed his eyes shut.

    He¡¯d wanted to run forever.

    To keep accelerating.

    But he was too weak.

    With a ferocity that shocked him, he swore a vow to himself: I will get stronger.

    The sound of metallic stars ringing out against the void filled his mind:

    The Demon Seed Has Stirred

    Your Constitution has risen from 6 to 7

    This time the advancement brought no solace. Grimacing, he straightened. 7 was still pathetic.

    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± he rasped, limping back onto the trail. ¡°Let¡¯s run.¡±

    * * *

    Nessa didn¡¯t emerge from her room that day. Vic was constantly checking on her, so Harald and Sam went about their workout routine as before. In the late afternoon, while taking a moment to lie down and rest with his arm flung over his eyes, Harald heard Nessa shouting at Vic again, her furious demands met by a low murmur. This last for half a bell and then subsided.

    Sam stared at him over dinner. ¡°A whole day she¡¯s wasted.¡±

    ¡°Not wasted,¡± said Harald. ¡°I gained a point of Constitution.¡±

    ¡°Another?¡± Sam sat up. ¡°That¡¯s two in as many weeks?¡±

    Harald shrugged.

    ¡°That¡¯s crazy.¡± Sam peered at him, brows furrowed, blue eyes fierce. ¡°Did you get the same message as before? About¡­ the Seed?¡±

    Harald nodded and continued shoveling food into his mouth.

    ¡°We need to look into this,¡± said Sam. ¡°Soon.¡±

    Harald shrugged. Kept eating.

    Eventually Sam did the same.

    * * *

    The representative from the Platinum Rose auction house came the following morning. Not Master Ling, but an assistant who refused to sit, but simply offered a scroll in which all the items the house was willing to put on auction were listed, along with suggested starting prices, estimates as to how much they might go for, and finally the Platinum Rose¡¯s commission rate based on expected total income.

    If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    Vic joined them to examine the scroll once the representative left, and laughed, delighted. ¡°The old goat! Master Ling must have scented desperation. This is just one step above a back alley mugging.¡±

    Harald felt a surge of relief. ¡°So it is under priced?¡±

    ¡°By at least half,¡± agreed Vic. ¡°See how they¡¯re suggesting they put it on special auction here to pre-approved buyers? That¡¯s a bald-faced deception. They¡¯ll have their own agents bid on the ridiculous amounts, put all of this into their inventory, then turn around and sell it in the general auction for double. Oh, that Master Ling. I could kiss him.¡±

    Sam and Harald stared at Vic in surprise.

    ¡°What?¡± Vic grinned. ¡°I find such crude greed very arousing. And rarely do I get the opportunity to cross wits with someone who¡¯s so grossly underestimated me.¡±

    ¡°You?¡± Sam placed her hands on her hips. ¡°This is Harald¡¯s property.¡±

    ¡°Harald couldn¡¯t argue his way out of a paper bag,¡± said Vic dismissively. ¡°No, I¡¯ll handle this. We¡¯ll send Master Ling a gracious apology, and say that we¡¯ve received a lump sum bid from Countess Sonora to the tune of¡­ two Zeniths. An estate purchase. That we¡¯re reluctant to accept it given that it will take her one month to finalize the offer, that we¡¯d hoped for a more immediate resolution, but alas¡­ he¡¯ll spit his green tea, panic, and double his terms, along with expediting the process. You¡¯ll see.¡±

    ¡°What if he questions Countess Sonora?¡± asked Harald.

    ¡°Oh, he¡¯ll put out feelers, but I¡¯ll let her know that we¡¯re using our current Horizon¡¯s Whisper Patronage to negotiate a couple of minor items. She¡¯ll be fine with it as long as I take responsibility for the situation and she¡¯s not actually compelled to pay anything.¡± Vic shrugged one shoulder. ¡°Like I said, leave this to me.¡±

    ¡°Countess Sonora seems¡­ surprisingly biddable,¡± said Sam cautiously.

    Vic waggled his eyebrows. ¡°Take one guess why.¡±

    Sam¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°She¡¯s¡­? You¡¯re¡­?¡±

    Vic laughed. ¡°You dirty maid! Of course not! Is that the first thing you think of? How depraved!¡±

    Sam immediately blushed. ¡°No! I mean, I only thought -¡±

    Vic¡¯s laughter redoubled. ¡°I tease! But suffice it to say, she is but newly made a countess, and finds herself at times in need of a friendly ear. Her father died under exceptionally suspicious circumstances, and I don¡¯t fault her for seeing daggers hidden behind every back. I, being a rustic and simple man, am a source of sound advice and reliable loyalty.¡±

    ¡°A rustic man,¡± repeated Sam dubiously. ¡°Reliable loyalty.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s all about leverage, dear. When your birth places you at a disadvantage in life, you must find an angle, a way to even the playing field. Be it with wit, the edge of your blade, your looks, or what you¡¯re sporting between your legs, an enterprising individual always finds a way to take advantage of the world.¡±

    ¡°Like you did me,¡± said Harald.

    ¡°Harry-boy!¡± Vic put a hand to his chest. ¡°I never plowed your field.¡± He pretended confusion. ¡°Did I?¡±

    Harald smiled despite himself. ¡°Not to my knowledge. But you definitely took advantage of our friendship.¡±

    ¡°But of course I did! I¡¯d be a fool not to. But that doesn¡¯t mean that¡¯s all this was. Would I otherwise be helping you now if I was but a leech?¡±

    Sam regained her composure. ¡°You¡¯re making some pretty scales off all this help.¡±

    ¡°A silver lining, to be sure.¡± Vic clapped his hands. ¡°But enough idle chatter. Seeing as Nessa is still indisposed, I¡¯ll take charge of your sword training for today. Fetch the bags, Sam. We¡¯ll meet in the backyard.¡±

    ¡°About Nessa,¡± said Harald, cutting off his friend. ¡°How¡¯s it looking?¡±

    Vic paused. ¡°Not ideal? But she¡¯s coming around. I¡¯ve told her she teaches a lesson tomorrow, or she loses this opportunity. And, well. Other things, but we¡¯ve no need to get into all that. Suffice to say she¡¯s taking this decision seriously.¡±

    ¡°All right.¡± Harald avoided Sam¡¯s stare. ¡°Good.¡±

    *

    There was more shouting that evening, and this time Vic raised his voice as well. The exchange was muffled by being upstairs, but still Harald descended to the gym to put in some more exercise. When he finally came back upstairs, soaked and trembling from exhaustion, the house was quiet again.

    He slept deeply. He¡¯d never slept so well before. Nine straight bells till Sam awoke him, and then he was up, refreshed and ready to run.

    And no soreness this morning.

    It had been just about two weeks since he¡¯d begun this routine, and perhaps it was the Constitution of 7, or just his body¡¯s adapting to the punishment, but for the first time ever, he didn¡¯t limp into the warm-up.

    Sam still lapped him, though, and he still kept a wary eye out for the Essentialist. But it was otherwise a good outing, and when they returned to the manor he was both pleasantly worn out and nervous about what was to come.

    Water, fruit, and then Vic entered the kitchen with his golden smile. ¡°Good morning, my delicious ducklings. Are you ready for your lesson?¡±

    Harald tried to read the man¡¯s face. ¡°Is Nessa teaching?¡±

    ¡°But of course! How could you doubt her? She¡¯s already below in the gym. I wish you good luck, and now I return to bed.¡± He gave a flourish of a bow. ¡°I shall dream sympathetic dreams.¡±

    Harald led the way down. Doubt roiled his mind. Was he wrong in setting these terms? In trying to help? Should he have listened to Sam?

    Too late now.

    Nessa was below, blade in hand, working her way through a drill. She wore tan breeches, the same white peasant¡¯s blouse in which she¡¯d arrived, and a pair of black leather training gloves. Her wild mane of dark curls was braided and pinned to the crown of her head, and she was steadily advancing down the center of the gym, her longsword flashing.

    It was a remarkable display of skill.

    After several days of trying to wield the weapon himself, Harald had a newfound appreciation for what it took to make such work effortless.

    Nessa advanced, her attacks never ceasing. Her longsword flickered with confident strength in her grip, wheeling twice on each side before cutting to the other, then coming in from below.

    Harald checked her footwork: her stance was deep, her steps measured, her posture upright.

    It was hypnotic. The blade looked massive in her hands, but she wielded it with perfect grace.

    ¡°Wow,¡± whispered Sam, tone sober.

    Nessa ignored them till she¡¯d crossed the gym, then spun the sword around once more and straightened from her stance, resting the blade against her shoulder.

    She didn¡¯t look good.

    Skin pasty, eyes ringed still with shadow, her face was drawn and exhausted. Her chest rose and fell, and she managed a smile, still confident, still appearing, at any rate, to be self-possessed.

    For a moment they just stood there, the sound of Nessa¡¯s breathing the only sound in the echoing gym.

    ¡°Well, this is weird.¡± Nessa took a final sharp breath and smiled. ¡°My teaching Harald and his maid while feeling like dog shit. But such is the world, is it not? Shall we make the best of it?¡±

    Sam crossed her arms.

    ¡°You¡¯re up for this?¡± asked Harald.

    ¡°Well!¡± Nessa wiped her brow with the back of her glove. ¡°Vic has made it quite clear that the terms are non-negotiable, and, he insisted, ultimately to my advantage. Who am I to argue? I suppose thanks are in order.¡± She inclined her head with mocking formality. ¡°Thanks, Harald. Your faith in me has restored my sense of self-worth.¡±

    ¡°I meant, are you physically capable?¡±

    Nessa narrowed her eyes just a fraction before her smile returned. ¡°Physically? I don¡¯t think this will be a problem. You probably don¡¯t even know how to hold a blade, much less test my limits. Yes. I¡¯m sure we¡¯ll get along splendidly.¡±

    ¡°You look like you¡¯re going to vomit,¡± said Sam.

    ¡°It¡¯s entirely possible, dear.¡± Nessa¡¯s smile was shadowed, unrepentant. ¡°But it¡¯s not as if I need to bark at you non-stop. A minute of coughing up bile shouldn¡¯t ruin your session.¡±

    ¡°For what it¡¯s worth, I advised Harald against this.¡± Sam¡¯s tone was cold. ¡°His life is on the line. We¡¯re going to lose Darrowdelve Manor, and Harald¡¯s doing everything he can to salvage the situation.¡±

    ¡°Sam,¡± protested Harald.

    ¡°I tell you this so you appreciate what he¡¯s doing for you.¡± Sam raised her chin, blue eyes flashing. ¡°If you don¡¯t take this seriously, or think you can twist him around your finger so that you can break the terms, I will personally see to it that you don¡¯t come back.¡±

    ¡°How absolutely dreadful,¡± drawled Nessa, eyebrows raising. ¡°Has she always been so yappy, Harald?¡±

    ¡°Both of you, please.¡± Harald took a deep breath and reached for that core of resolve. ¡°Nobody here wants you to succeed more than me, Nessa. But if you can¡¯t commit, I¡¯ll hold to the terms. Shall we start the lesson?¡±

    ¡°Yes, let¡¯s. Any more sermonizing and I¡¯ll walk out now.¡± Her eyes flashed as she stared at Sam. ¡°Fetch your blades. Let¡¯s see what nonsense Vic has taught you.¡±

    A few moments later Sam and Harald were lined up before her, longswords in hand. The blade felt, if not comfortable, at least marginally more familiar after some four days of interminable swinging and clashing with Sam.

    ¡°Show me what Vic taught you,¡± said Nessa, her own sword still propped against her shoulder. ¡°I¡¯ll just evaluate for now.¡±

    Harald turned to face Sam and adopted the Tower stance they¡¯d been taught. Blade vertical, pressed just inside his shoulder, chest puffed, elbows down, stance wide and deep.

    Sam did the same, the tendons of her forearm visible, and then nodded. ¡°Cut!¡±

    He stepped in and slashed down at her torso. It was a good blow; he felt it come from his core, and when she parried their swords rang out brightly.

    But he didn¡¯t linger; he immediately withdrew to the stance and stood there, sword up.

    They remained thus for a moment, and then, uncertain, glanced at Nessa.

    ¡°That¡¯s it?¡± she asked.

    Harald straightened. ¡°That¡¯s it.¡±

    ¡°By the angels,¡± moaned Nessa. ¡°All right, that¡¯s fine. We¡¯ve a lot to learn. Let¡¯s see.¡±

    She began to pace up and down before them, frowning.

    Harald watched her, feeling nervous, defiant, resolute.

    ¡°Let me make one thing clear from the get-go,¡± said Nessa at last. ¡°Everything that we¡¯re going to work on here is part of a dance. Combat is a flow, a never-ending tide that shifts and eddies and never ceases. The guards you¡¯ll learn, the parries, the footwork, we¡¯ll focus on each part in isolation, but you must never forget that it¡¯s all liquid, ever-shifting, never stopping.¡±

    She raised her blade, hilt by her hip, tip pointing upward at Harald¡¯s face. ¡°The Plow.¡± She shifted, tip of the sword lowering to the floor and leaving her wide open. ¡°The Fool.¡± She swept the sword behind her, tip still pointed at the floor. ¡°The Tail.¡± She flowed up to the stance Vic had taught them, hilt by her shoulder, but now the sword sloped backward, ¡°The Roof.¡± She extended her arms straight up, blade still angled back, looking like an executioner about to lop off a man¡¯s head. ¡°High Guard.¡±

    Finally she flowed into a more threatening stance, hilt held just behind her temple, sword pointing at Harald and parallel to the floor, as if she were about to stab him through the head. ¡°The Ox. You¡¯ll learn all of these guards and when to use them, but don¡¯t be fooled. They are meant to flow into each other. Like this.¡±

    And Nessa began to move.

    It was bewitching, mesmerizing to watch.

    Her blade gleamed and flowed back and forth, rising and reversing, her feet never stopping as she side stepped, retreated, advanced along an oblique line. Back and forth, as if she faced an invisible opponent, and though Harald caught glimpses of the guards she¡¯d mentioned, they were flashes that rarely lasted for long.

    ¡°Then we add the blows and parries.¡±

    Her blade began to lash out, thrusts and lunges, slashes and cuts. Some swept up from beneath to rise up, others scythed down from above. Stabs that came in from the upper left, the upper right. Whirls and parries, retreats and sudden gliding steps forward.

    ¡°Footwork makes this possible. The blade captures the eye, but it is your feet that allow you to strike and recover. Occasionally you lunge and lean forward, but always mind your center. Never overextend, never lose control. Always back and forth, side to side, seeking and binding, killing and retreating.¡±

    She was breathing heavily now, and abruptly stopped to lay her blade across her shoulder once more. A coil of curling black hair had fallen across her face, and this she blew away with a smile. ¡°If you can remember that one key lesson, if you manage to not become fixated on any one guard, any one step, if you can remember in the heat of battle that it is a dance like any other, requiring speed, courage, prudence, and strength, then there is a chance you might become a passable swordswoman. Or man. If you forget?¡±

    Her smile grew cold, her eyes narrowing. ¡°Then your opponent shall show you the error of your ways, once, and once only.¡±

    Harald nodded sharply, his heart pounding. To move like Nessa, to flow like water, to wield his blade like a flickering flame: in that moment there was nothing more in the world that he desired, nothing he wouldn¡¯t do to achieve that same mastery.

    ¡°But we must start from the beginning.¡± Nessa wiped the sweat away, her complexion having paled dangerously. ¡°Enter the Tower stance Vic taught you, which is a variation of the Roof.¡±

    She turned so that her back was presented to them both, and entered the stance herself. ¡°And now strike as I do. Ready? Watch carefully.¡±

    And with casual, ineffable grace, Nessa began to teach them the ways of the sword.

 Chapter 22

    That evening the four of them gathered around the kitchen table. Sam had fried up a mess of vegetables and cuts of ham, and poured a spicy Jade Empire sauce over the whole of it that reduced to a thickly sweet dark syrup.

    Harald, freshly washed, had been gratified to realize he¡¯d lost weight; despite the copious amounts of food he was devouring each day, somehow he¡¯d become trimmer; he still sported a belly, still looked much the same in the mirror, but not only had he tightened his belt by a new notch, he felt different.

    He felt at once more aware of his body, felt more in control of himself. The aches and pains that had become a near constant had begun to fade, so that no matter how hard he pushed himself he no longer felt the same crippling soreness the next day, and the result was a sense of¡­ well. Burgeoning fitness?

    So it was that he sat at the dining table, proud, hungry, and feeling good.

    Sam dished out the main course while Vic poured the wine. Nessa nibbled on a slice of bread and watched Harald.

    ¡°We¡¯ve received the latest demand for payment,¡± said Sam, sitting down. ¡°We¡¯re now officially overdue. We have one month to make good, and then we¡¯ll be fined and in default as they begin the court proceedings to claim the house. In about eight weeks, we¡¯ll be evicted.¡±

    ¡°So it goes,¡± said Harald, unconcerned.

    ¡°So it goes?¡± Nessa eyed him curiously, ignoring the plate that Sam had served. ¡°I admire your sangfroid, Harry. Vic did his best to explain what brought this change about, but I¡¯m mystified. Harald. Where did that sweet, bumbling boy go?¡±

    Vic eyed Harald, clearly curious as to how he¡¯d respond.

    For a moment it was all Harald could do to move his food around in his bowl. His emotions rose up in a swirl, and he saw again Vorakhar¡¯s grinning demonic visage, the dire rats leaping around him, that knowledge that he was going to die alone and unmourned in the first level of the dungeon.

    How easy it¡¯d be to simply say ¡®Oh, you know, I was cursed by the same demon that my father supposedly slew, and now I don¡¯t know if it¡¯s me or the demon seed that can¡¯t stop chasing down my old dreams.¡¯

    But to admit that was madness.

    ¡°I¡­¡± He didn¡¯t want to lie, either, though. ¡°Did Vic tell you about Yeoric and his betrayal?¡±

    Nessa nodded, tearing another tiny piece off her slice.

    ¡°I went down into the dungeon by myself after that. And did as well as you can imagine.¡± He tried for a smile, but felt too self conscious. ¡°I almost died. And I guess I had a moment of accounting, down there in the dark. As to who I was, what I¡¯d accomplished thus far in my life, where I was going.¡±

    ¡°Inspiring,¡± said Nessa, taking Vic¡¯s wine glass and near draining it in one gulp. ¡°What?¡± she said to Vic, raising an eyebrow. ¡°I can¡¯t drink wine, now?¡±

    ¡°Not mine, at any rate.¡±

    ¡°Then pour me a glass.¡±

    Vic hesitated.

    ¡°I¡¯m wrestling with glory, not wine.¡± She took up her goblet, tossed the water out on the flagstones behind her, and set it by the bottle with a thump. ¡°Or am I to be treated like a child in every respect? Harald.¡± She turned to him with a forced smile. ¡°Rats, was it?¡±

    ¡°Rats,¡± agreed Harald, uneasy. Vic hesitated then poured a few fingers-worth of wine into the goblet, which Nessa took up with a gracious smile. ¡°Yes. Dire rats. They swarmed all over me.¡±

    ¡°And you fought them with¡­?¡±

    ¡°My longsword.¡±

    Nessa let out a bark of laughter. ¡°You tried to fight rats with a longsword?¡±

    Harald flushed. ¡°They were very big.¡±

    ¡°Darling, the only way to kill rats with a longsword is by skewering them, and I doubt you can reliably hit the side of a door at the level you¡¯re at now. You should have drawn a dagger, or better yet, never gone down there.¡±

    ¡°I know that now,¡± muttered Harald.

    ¡°It¡¯s a miracle you¡¯re alive. What?¡± Vic must have done something, because Nessa glared at him with surprise. ¡°Must I play the flatterer still? I thought I was his instructor now, and nothing else.¡±

    ¡°Still?¡± prompted Sam.

    ¡°Still, of course.¡± Nessa drained her goblet and refilled it before Vic could intervene. ¡°You should have heard Vic all these years.¡±

    ¡°Nessa,¡± warned Vic, his voice hard and cold.

    ¡°Flatter the boy, he¡¯d say.¡± Nessa¡¯s smile was cutting. ¡°Make him feel special, just smile at him on occasion. The fat idiot is wild for you, all you need do is keep him dancing and he¡¯ll keep us in scales.¡±

    Vic sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

    Sam¡¯s face paled in outrage.

    Harald held Nessa¡¯s gaze, unable to look away.

    She drained half her wine and smiled pitying at him. ¡°You knew, of course? At least, I thought you did. Perhaps it¡¯s more accurate to say I hoped? Otherwise it would have been too pathetic for words.¡±

    ¡°Nessa,¡± said Vic. ¡°Shut your trap or leave the table. Those are your choices.¡±

    ¡°Why?¡± She leaned forward on one elbow. ¡°So that you can continue to craft this little adventure as you deem best? The rest of us have voices, Vic. We¡¯re real people. And Harald deserves to know, don¡¯t you think? I do. No lies between swordbrethern. Or some such nonsense.¡± She glanced at Harald, eyes glittering, smile bright. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t you rather know the truth?¡±

    Harald didn¡¯t know what to say.

    ¡°Enough,¡± said Sam. ¡°Vic is right. I think you should leave the table.¡±

    ¡°I couldn¡¯t care less what you think, you jumped up little peasant,¡± snapped Nessa. ¡°Just because you¡¯ve exchanged your duster for a blade doesn¡¯t mean you¡¯re a warrior or my equal.¡±

    ¡°Enough,¡± said Harald.

    But Nessa wasn¡¯t done. ¡°You¡¯ve spent your whole life cleaning up Harald¡¯s messes, haven¡¯t you? And now you can¡¯t imagine doing anything else. What have you done with your freedom? Make his dinner.¡±

    ¡°Nessa,¡± drawled Vic. ¡°You¡¯re being a bore. Leave the table.¡±

    ¡°Or what?¡± She refilled her glass. ¡°You¡¯ll cast me out? Run me through with your rapier? Express your disapproval?¡±

    Harald stood up. ¡°You¡¯re not yourself, Nessa. Go to your room or walk out the front door. The choice is yours.¡±

    Her eyes flashed as her lip curled up in disdain. ¡°Look at Harry-boy, all grown up. He cuts his hair and thinks it makes him a man. Well darling, why don¡¯t you prove you¡¯re all grown up? Hmm? Would that make you happy, Vic, if I went all the way and truly wrapped him around my finger?¡±

    Viv sighed and stood as well. ¡°It seems Nessa needs some time alone. Come on my dear.¡± And he reached for her elbow.

    Nessa bolted to her feet and threw the contents of her goblet at Vic. ¡°Don¡¯t touch me! Don¡¯t you ever fucking touch me!¡±

    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

    Everybody froze.

    Chest heaving, Nessa glanced around their company, expression wild, and then she closed her eyes and pressed her hand to her brow. ¡°I think¡­ I believe Vic might be right. I feel poorly. I¡¯ll¡­ I¡¯ll excuse myself.¡±

    And snatching up the bottle of wine, she strode out of the kitchen toward the stairs.

    ¡°Well.¡± Vic glanced down at his wine-spattered shirt with a wry smile. ¡°Nessa¡¯s charm is legendary, is it not?¡±

    Sam was staring at Harald, her jaw clenched. When he met her eye, she simply shook her head.

    Harald sighed and sat down.

    ¡°Harry-boy,¡± said Vic, sitting as well and taking up his fork. ¡°She craves glory, and yet cannot get any. That makes her irrational, furious, and she takes it out on those around her. Her words were calculated to wound, and nothing more, in an attempt to abate her own pain. Don¡¯t give her insults weight.¡±

    Sam sat slowly. ¡°Did you really instruct her to seduce Harald?¡±

    ¡°Nothing as direct as that. But I could see that Harald was¡ªunderstandably¡ªinfatuated with her. How could he not be? I¡¯ve yet to meet the man or woman who is completely immune to her charms.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve yet to see them,¡± said Sam stonily.

    ¡°Which is to your credit, obviously.¡± Vic waved his fork around. ¡°I simply encouraged her to be friendly with you, Harald. Nothing so gross as to, well, seduce you outright, but to be a friend. Which she was, was she not? And did you not derive pleasure in her company? Just as I do?¡± He considered. ¡°Most of the time?¡±

    ¡°Vic, I don¡¯t care.¡± Harald suddenly felt exhausted. ¡°Just stop. I know our friendship is fraught, and I always knew that Nessa didn¡¯t care for me. I know that I was a fat, spoiled, whining lordling who had nothing to his credit but scales.¡±

    ¡°Harald,¡± protested Sam, even as Vic went to do the same.

    ¡°No.¡± His tone was sharp enough to cause them both to fall silent. ¡°That¡¯s what I was. And I don¡¯t fault you for taking advantage of me, because I wanted to be taken advantage of. If it meant I had friends, if it meant I could be close to someone like Nessa, if it gave me something to look forward to. To distract me.¡±

    Harald stared down at his place, working those truths over in his mind.

    ¡°But that Harald is gone. He died in the dungeon. I don¡¯t care for lies any longer. I don¡¯t want Nessa to pretend to like me. I want her to train me. And I think she can. Just as I know you can help me deal with Master Ling and negotiate with Countess Sonora.¡±

    ¡°Harald,¡± said Vic softly. ¡°We¡¯re friends. It¡¯s a complex relationship to be sure, but don¡¯t let¡¯s pretend that all it ever was -¡±

    ¡°Enough.¡± Harald placed both palms on the table. ¡°Enough, Vic. There was some friendship there, but I don¡¯t want you to pretend that was the majority of our relationship. I¡¯ve seen how you enjoy tangling with Master Ling. How you manipulate Countess Sonora. And I understand now how you flattered and worked me.¡±

    Vic had gone completely still.

    ¡°And that¡¯s fine,¡± said Harald, holding the man¡¯s gaze. ¡°I¡¯m not upset. I¡¯m not here to win your approval or to hear how much you like me.¡± He considered. ¡°I don¡¯t much like myself. There¡¯s little to approve of. So do me the courtesy of ending the charade. I won¡¯t fall apart if you deal with me honestly. If anything, that¡¯s your best bet in salvaging our friendship, or whatever it was.¡±

    ¡°I see,¡± said Vic, relaxing and sitting back. ¡°Well, I must say -¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m done talking.¡± Harald stood. ¡°Sam, thank you for dinner. I¡¯m going to eat it alone in my room. I¡¯ll see you tomorrow for our run. Vic, did you send the response to Master Ling?¡±

    ¡°I¡­ yes. I did.¡±

    ¡°Good. Then I bid you both a good night.¡±

    And heart hammering, he took up his plate, his fork, and the carafe of water, and left the kitchen.

    He made it to the steps before Sam caught up with him. ¡°Harald.¡±

    ¡°Sam.¡± He turned to her, and saw the conflict in her expression, her concern. ¡°I¡¯m fine. I swear it.¡±

    ¡°I¡­¡± She bit her lower lip, searching his face, then gave a sharp nod. ¡°I think you actually are. And I wanted to say¡­ I¡¯m proud of you.¡± Her blue eyes widened in sudden self-consciousness. ¡°Not that you need to hear that, or that it¡¯s my place, but -¡±

    ¡°Sam.¡± He set the carafe on the steps and placed his hand on her shoulder. ¡°Thank you. Out of everybody I¡¯ve ever met or known, your opinion means the most.¡±

    Her eyes widened again, and then she gave a bright smile, which disappeared just as quickly as she nodded fiercely. ¡°And I feel the same about you, Harald. Especially this new you.¡±

    ¡°This new me.¡± He picked up the carafe. ¡°But thanks. Get some sleep, Sam. I don¡¯t want you falling behind tomorrow morning.¡±

    ¡°Ha.¡± She took a step back. ¡°Will do. Sleep well, Harald.¡±

    He mounted the steps, walked down the landing to his room, and hip checked it open. Set his plate on his reading table by the window, and then sat to slowly eat his dinner, staring distractedly out the window over the front grounds at the distant Baldric Avenue and the Angelic Quarter beyond.

    When he was finished, he changed into his sleeping garments and sat on the carpet to do the light stretching that Sam had taught him. She made it look easy, bowing her brow to her knees, as supple and flexible as a cloth doll, but he could barely touch his toes.

    Still, he knew he would get better in time.

    There was a knock at his door. ¡°Harald?¡±

    Nessa, her tone strangely uncertain.

    His heart began to race. ¡°Come in.¡±

    She cracked the door open and slid inside to press herself against the wall. She was dressed as before, all in black, but had unbraided her hair so that it fell past one shoulder in a riotous mass.

    For a moment she simply stared at him, biting her lower lip, her gaze solemn, and then she frowned and looked away. ¡°I came to apologize.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t have to.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t I?¡± Her smile was pained. ¡°You¡¯re the sole reason I¡¯m sleeping on a feather mattress instead of inhaling a line of raw glory off some shithole countertop in the Bad Quarter. I believe I owe you some measure of gratitude, don¡¯t you?¡±

    Harald considered her, then turned back to his stretch. ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°No?¡± Her confusion was obvious.

    ¡°You¡¯re here to train Sam and I with the longsword. If you want to leave you can leave. That¡¯s it.¡±

    He leaned into the stretch. His hamstrings were like lead.

    Silence.

    Had she left?

    ¡°You really have changed, haven¡¯t you?¡± Her voice was soft now, considering.

    Harald didn¡¯t answer.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t think it possible.¡± She sounded amused, but in a desperate, raw kind of way. ¡°For people to change, that is.¡±

    Harald glanced sidelong at her. She leaned against the wall, hands hidden behind her back, considering him. ¡°You don¡¯t think you can change?¡±

    She laughed, the sound throaty. ¡°Most days I do. I have this beautiful dream that I love to entertain: me in a simple white dress, something modest but flattering, striding through the front gates of the Conservatory, my fiddle case in hand. A whole semester lies before me, a chance to impress my instructors and liberate my talent, and most importantly, I¡¯m entering alone. Without my weaknesses, my appetites, my darkness, my¡­¡± She smiled self-deprecatingly. ¡°My complexities. Just me and the music.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a good dream,¡± said Harald.

    ¡°It¡¯s a childish dream,¡± Nessa replied, her smile remaining but not touching her eyes. ¡°Every addict has one just like it. A fantasy to give them hope, to keep them going. People don¡¯t change. They just become more themselves, for better or worse.¡±

    Harald didn¡¯t know what to say, so he simply held her gaze, his brow furrowed.

    ¡°Or at least, that¡¯s what I thought till I saw you today. Vic¡¯s account of your transformation felt overblown. I see now that perhaps he was right.¡±

    In the past Harald would have fallen over himself to say something, to comfort her, encourage her, to thank her for the kind words. He¡¯d have offered her a drink, invited her to sit down, used this moment to ask about the glory, her life, how it had all come to this.

    All in the hopes of impressing her, showing how kind he was, how considerate. How he cared about her.

    But now he just smiled sadly. ¡°Thanks, Nessa.¡±

    Perhaps she¡¯d also expected that reflex for him, for she seemed to wait for a moment, eyebrows raised, then her smile returned, self-deprecating as ever, and she pushed off the wall. ¡°Well. I¡¯ve taken up enough of your time. I¡¯m sorry for my behavior, and my words, and my¡­ my past insincerities. I really do appreciate this chance, Harald. And, as best as I can, I aim to make the most of it.¡±

    Harald nodded, still watching her cautiously, but saying nothing.

    Nessa opened his door wider and stepped into it. Glanced back over her shoulder at him, and in that moment her beauty was as exquisite as ever, her lips parted in a mocking smile, her dark eyes flashing, her thick mane of black hair so rich it had blue tints. ¡°Good night, Harald.¡±

    ¡°Good night, Nessa.¡±

    She closed the door softly behind her, and the room felt suddenly drab in her absence.

    Harald exhaled heavily and bowed his head. His heart was still pounding. Had that just happened? And had he reacted as calmly as he¡¯d done?

    The sound of metallic stars ringing out against the void filled his mind:

    The Demon Seed Has Stirred

    Your Presence has risen from 8 to 9

    Harald stared at the floating message.

    What the actual fuck?

    It was one thing to gain a point of Strength or Constitution while training as hard as he was doing, but to gain Presence? That was only supposed to go up a point every few years, and then only if you capitalized on your natural charisma, if you forged an impressive demeanor and manifested a forceful nature.

    It was distinct from Ego, which represented your strength of will and mental fortitude; Presence was an intangible quality that set you apart in a crowd, that drew the eye and held people¡¯s attention.

    He¡¯d lived his whole life with a Presence of 3.

    And now it was 9? That was verging on the point of being an impactful individual, a quietly confident person who people noted and took into account.

    Harald stared out at nothing, perplexed. Had he changed that much?

    Then again, he thought of the conversation he¡¯d just had with Nessa, and realized that yes, he had.

    That conversation was almost as improbable as his Presence gain. She¡¯d visited his quarters before. Often late at night once the festivities had wound down. Would bring wine, a book of poetry from his father¡¯s library, and lie before his fireplace, reading to him, or just sipping and staring into the flames.

    While Harald drank in the sight of her.

    But that seemed like another life. The Harald who¡¯d lay awake all night replaying their conversations, imagining what he could have said or done differently, gone.

    Had he changed?

    Yes.

    But to Nessa¡¯s point, could he claim the credit?

    He thought of Vorakhar¡¯s wicked grin.

    He wasn¡¯t sure he could.

    But whatever the cause, he meant to take advantage of the change. The old Harald had only dreamed of such growth, such resolve, such fortitude.

    Had cursed his own weakness and endlessly resolved to do better, to impress his father, to become the hero he knew he could be.

    Now that he had it, he¡¯d make good.

    Even as old lies fell away, old fantasies, old yearnings.

    For something new was taking their place.

    Something brutal and ambitious and unyielding.

 Chapter 23

    Harald awoke before Sixth Bell, before Sam had even entered his room. He rose in the dark and dressed.

    Today felt different.

    It wasn¡¯t that he felt numb, but rather hardened. He didn¡¯t linger in bed, didn¡¯t wrestle with the temptation of enjoying the warmth.

    He simply opened his eyes, realized that he was awake, and got the hell out of bed.

    When Sam opened his door, he was dressed and lacing up his running leather shoes.

    ¡°You¡¯re awake.¡±

    ¡°That I am. Let¡¯s go.¡±

    He passed her, taking the cup of water and fruit, and had drained and eaten them by the time he reached the front door.

    Out into the dark. This pre-dawn gloom was becoming familiar. Something he welcomed, the way to start the day right.

    ¡°You all right?¡± asked Sam, hugging first one knee and then the other to her chest.

    ¡°Not yet. But I¡¯m working on it.¡± He windmilled his arms twice and then fell into a jog. Down the driveway. Out the gate. Turned down Baldric to the park.

    His body felt good. That was remarkable. He¡¯d grown so used to pain and soreness that it felt almost weird to be able to jog along free of stiffness and aches.

    The goal was to run a little faster for a little longer each day. The temptation to go hard right out the gate was strong, but he reined himself in, fought for a steady pace, emulated Sam¡¯s light gait.

    They hit Season Park. When he¡¯d first started this routine a couple of weeks ago even one lap had felt impossible. Now he considered it a warm-up. He ran around the familiar curves, not light on his feet, but purposeful, driven. Sam kept pace as always, and when they finished the first lap, she pulled ahead.

    But not as quickly.

    Harald maintained a good, steady pace, faster than any he¡¯d yet managed. Each footfall, each breath, each moment felt more vivid, more real, more pressing than any moment in his previous life.

    This was living.

    This was being alive within your body.

    On he ran, through the mist that stole across the path. Sam left him behind as always, but he didn¡¯t let that dismay him. Instead he focused on his breathing, in through the nose, out through the mouth. Finger tips lightly pressed together, hands low.

    Images came to his mind: Nessa leaning against the wall by his bedroom door, watching him, gaze speculative. Vic lounging in his kitchen chair. Ustim¡¯s sneer. Yeoric leaning over him, pinning him to the ground.

    His father backhanding him that one night after he¡¯d dared press him on mother¡¯s death.

    Harald went faster.

    He finished a second lap, felt good, felt elevated. The eastern horizon was starting to lighten. The mist was burning away. More people were on the path.

    Nothing mattered but keeping his pace.

    People watched him go by, curious, stepping aside abruptly as he came barreling along.

    Once he¡¯d have worried what they thought. How they perceived him. What they made of his sweating, his gasping, his shorn hair.

    Now he didn¡¯t care.

    Nothing mattered.

    On he ran, into the third lap. Sam had yet to catch up with him.

    No stitch yet.

    He lengthened his stride. Soon he¡¯d hit the wall. But not yet.

    Not yet.

    On he ran, chest tightening, breath coming faster, sweat stinging his eyes.

    Faster.

    Nothing mattered.

    Faster.

    Sam finally caught up, came abreast.

    Harald opened his pace even farther, kept up with her, allowed her presence to push him to greater speed.

    She glanced askance at him sidelong, made no comment.

    How she made running look easy. Her frame compact, athletic, feline, her braid bouncing, her brow lightly sweated.

    Harald forged ahead, refusing to fall behind.

    Pain began to mount.

    There was the stitch.

    His breath was now a series of sharp gasps.

    His thighs and calves were burning.

    But he wouldn¡¯t relent.

    All his life he¡¯d given up when the going got tough. Had knowingly allowed others to manipulate him. Had accepted and bowed his head.

    Fury arose within him.

    His flesh was weak, but it could be made to obey.

    On he ran.

    Sam couldn¡¯t pull away.

    A fourth lap.

    He was a mess, a shambling, gasping, sweat-soaked mess.

    But he didn¡¯t fall back.

    Nothing but his mind kept him going.

    His body begged for mercy. He gave it none. On he ran, fighting to keep Sam¡¯s pace. She did him the dignity of not slowing down.

    Others gave him sharp, worried glances as he raced past them.

    Just to the beginning of the sixth lap. His vision narrowed to a tunnel. He rocked from side to side as he ran, falling apart. Sam pulled ahead, but he forced himself to catch up.

    There, just ahead: the ornamental gate that was their entrance.

    His marker.

    He pounded past it, careened off the path, and crashed down onto the bank of grass, hitting it hard and floundering.

    ¡°Harald?¡± Sam by his side, hand on his shoulder.

    ¡°Go on,¡± he gasped. ¡°I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m fine.¡±

    For a moment she hesitated, and then she was gone.

    Time ceased to have meaning. All that existed was his need to suck in endless lungful¡¯s of air, to fight to not vomit, to stop shaking, to get his shit together.

    The sound of metallic stars ringing out against the void filled his mind:

    The Demon Seed Has Stirred

    Your Constitution has risen from 7 to 8

    One step closer.

    Grim satisfaction replaced his anger.

    Three points of Constitution gain in just over two weeks. What normally took others a year, two, he¡¯d done in less than a month.

    Harald rolled onto his back and stared up at the gray dawn sky. What if this rate didn¡¯t let up? What if he kept gaining three points every month? Within a year he¡¯d be a monster.

    But no. Normally people, even peak athletes, didn¡¯t get a Constitution above 15, or 16 at the very highest. The only way to climb beyond that, to reach the mythical 20¡¯s, was by Ascending your Thrones. The human body, unaided, had natural limitations.

    He would soon need scales if he was to keep this rate of advancement. First he¡¯d have to Ascend to his first Throne by acquiring 10,000 Copper Moons. That¡¯s where most adventurers and raiders stopped, for while it took a single Zenith Tide to activate your first, it took 100,000 Copper Moons, or an entire Horizon¡¯s Whisper to activate your second.

    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

    Well.

    One step at a time.

    Harald sat up with effort and summoned his window to consider his stats.

    Strength: 7

    Dexterity: 7

    Constitution: 8

    Ego: 18

    Presence: 9

    The numbers that hovered before him were proof that he wasn¡¯t delusional, but somehow he couldn¡¯t quite believe them. Ego 18? Presence 9? Constitution 8?

    He examined his Demon Seed Endowment once more.

    Demon Seed: in the depths of your being an unholy black seed has been planted. Water this seed, nurture its growth, and you shall become a conflagration of power and despair.

    What had Vorakhar done to him?

    No matter.

    Thus far the changes lay in accord with his own desires. He¡¯d not second-guess the demon.

    Not yet.

    Groaning, he rose to his feet and forced himself into a light jog. One more lap. His body protested, but he ignored it.

    One more lap and he¡¯d call it quits.

    Maybe two.

    * * *

    Learning the longsword under Nessa was far more interesting than executing Vic¡¯s uninspired drills.

    ¡°Their are several ways to learn,¡± she said that morning, freshly showered and looking far better than the evening before. She¡¯d simply chosen to not address the insults or the scene she¡¯d made, and ignored Sam¡¯s flinty stare. ¡°You can work through line drills, you can shadow-spar, you can spend time executing sequences with a passive partner, but the single best way to improve your skills is to spar.¡±

    Harald¡¯s excitement jumped up a notch.

    Nessa extended her blade. ¡°We¡¯re following an accelerated course, seeing as you only have six weeks in which to master as much as possible, so I will be treating you as adults with common sense and self-control. I¡¯ll give a quick review of what you must keep in mind, and then this morning will be spent sparring with live steel.¡± Her smile was humorless. ¡°It¡¯s dangerous, but nothing focuses the mind and cause you to appreciate the weapon you¡¯re holding like sparring without protective gear.¡±

    Harald glanced nervously at Sam.

    This seemed like an exceptionally bad idea.

    ¡°So, things to keep in mind.¡± She entered the Plow Stance, hilt at her hip, point aimed at her opponent¡¯s face. ¡°Always keep your vertical center-line in mind. Your blocks and strikes should be conservative if possible, and not reach out far to the sides, because that will just leave you open. Move, when possible, obliquely; at times you might want to execute a direct lunge, but usually you¡¯ll be stepping forward and to a side, protecting your center-line and striking at your opponent from an angle.¡±

    She executed a few examples, gliding forward, blade lashing out lazily.

    ¡°We¡¯ll work on footwork soon, but for now, maintain posture, and try not to cross your feet. Watch.¡±

    She demonstrated.

    ¡°Now, let¡¯s get to the heart of what I want to focus on for this lesson. The bind. Harald, Tower Stance, then strike at me and hold.¡±

    Harald shook out his shoulders, perfected his stance, and then stepped in and slightly to the side, slashing down at her torso.

    Nessa parried nonchalantly so that their blades sang out, and then held her blade in place, so that they were crossed.

    ¡°This, here, is called the bind. Our swords touch. Often a fight will be a series of quick thrusts and parries, but the bind is crucial to turning a situation to your advantage and killing your foe. Harald, press against my blade.¡±

    She¡¯d parried the upper quarter of his sword close to her hilt; he strained, but her sword didn¡¯t give way.

    ¡°The bind is all about leverage. The higher up your blade you go, the less you have. Now, say that we reverse the situation.¡± And she slid her blade back and down, so that her upper edge was close to Harald¡¯s hilt. ¡°Try again.¡±

    This time her blade gave way, though the muscle that snaked own her forearm to snarl over the bone just below her wrist came into sharp relief.

    ¡°Strong versus weak. That doesn¡¯t mean that strong is better; it¡¯s all about the dance. If my bind is weak, then I can give way, twist, and come in over his sword as he¡¯s deflected to the side. If it¡¯s strong, then I can force his aside and stab him.¡±

    And she worked her sword up and down the length of Harald¡¯s own, demonstrating how one might react to different positions.

    ¡°The key is to develop a sense for the bind that doesn¡¯t require endless seconds and straining when your swords clash. You need to refine your intuition so that you immediately flow into the correct counter or attack. The moment your blades touch, if they don¡¯t immediately spring apart, you need to sense how to react, whether to force or relax, which way to twist, how best to guide your opponents sword so that you can slide yours past them and end the fight.¡±

    Nessa smiled at Harald, the expression challenging, provocative. ¡°Now try and flow with me. Sense through your hands what leverage you have, and how you should react.¡±

    And the pressure on his blade, constant till this moment, shifted as she moved out wide, drawing the length of her sword down so that the parry was close to her tip yet remained in the center of his own sword.

    Harald pushed, but she deflected his thrust to the side, coming back around and over. But she didn¡¯t go for the stab; instead, she allowed him to turn with her, sword again thrusting, but now his weak was against her strong; he lacked leverage, so he backed away and sought to deflect her sword as she pushed.

    Back and forth, low then high, side to side they turned, their swords slithering metallically over each other, and slowly he started to glimpse what Nessa was referring to. A sense of when to push, when to give way. How to force her blade out wide from her center line, and how she might trick him into thinking he had control when she was setting him up for a feint.

    ¡°Good!¡± Nessa smiled, and Harald felt a thrill pass through him. ¡°Sam? Your turn.¡±

    Harald stepped back.

    Sam was eager, fierce, focused.

    The women crossed their longswords, entering the bind, and again set to pushing and deflecting, side stepping and advancing, retreating and guiding each other¡¯s swords.

    Except Nessa made it look effortless; no matter what Sam tried to do, she seemed to know where to step, how to react, such that she always looked in control; Sam scowled, intent on trying to force the issue, and continuously lost her center line as Nessa used her own strength against her.

    ¡°Good. You both are going to spend time doing this each day. Once you¡¯ve got the basics down, I¡¯m going to have you train blindfolded with wooden blades. Its all about your center line, leverage, and reading your opponent. Sam here abhors my guts, and wants nothing more than to dominate the bind; that makes her easy to control and eviscerate.¡±

    Sam flushed and clenched her jaw.

    ¡°Harald, on the other hand, is too tentative; he¡¯s seeking to understand with his mind as much if not more than he is with his instinct, his arms, his center of gravity. Binding is an intuitive art; in a real fight you won¡¯t have time to calculate. Your blades will touch and in that moment you¡¯ll need to decide how to move. No time for thought. Which is why you¡¯ll be training until your reaction is instinctive, not calculated. Good?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± said Harald, doing his best to control his excitement. For this felt like real sword fighting, the hidden heart of what more skilled warriors made look easy.

    ¡°Yes,¡± said Sam, tone grim.

    ¡°Good. Now, at half-speed, I want you both to bind against each other, and just go back and forth. I¡¯ll add caustic commentary where needed. Then we¡¯ll move onto footwork, and finish with some line drills. Face up. Ready? Begin.¡±

    * * *

    Dinner was a tense affair; Harald kept a wary eye on Nessa in fear of another outburst, but she was calm, collected, almost demure.

    Which was in and of itself worrying.

    Vic, however, was positively glowing. He managed to wait till Sam had served their plates, then leaned forward to beam at Harald.

    ¡°You recollect how you¡¯ve accused me time and again of being nothing but a mercenary leech intent on milking you for every scale and caring nothing for your true well being?¡±

    Harald paused. ¡°Um. No?¡±

    ¡°Well, I¡¯m glad to say we¡¯ll soon be able to put those doubts to rest. Countess Sonora has requested that my team and I descend into the dungeon for some basic scale hunting, and I have hit upon the capital idea of bringing you and Sam along.¡±

    Nessa frowned. ¡°They can barely tell the pointy end of the sword from the hilt.¡±

    ¡°Hey,¡± protested Sam.

    ¡°Oh, they won¡¯t be doing much. We¡¯ll only be entering the 4th Level. It¡¯s practically a playground suitable for children. You and I will do the actual work, and when the moment is right, we¡¯ll usher them forward to try their hand at dispatching badly wounded monsters.¡±

    ¡°That doesn¡¯t sound very¡­¡± Harald tried to find the right word.

    ¡°Dangerous?¡± provided Vic. ¡°It¡¯s not meant to be. But we need to expedite your acquisition of a class. You absolutely need to be working on one by the end of your first month, so that you can begin manifesting your passives and actives in time to train with them. The only way to acquire your class is by putting yourself in danger; by having Nessa and I by your side, you¡¯ll be able to pick and choose your battles. And it¡¯s but our first venture. I¡¯ve decided that we¡¯re going to head down at least once every fortnight to put your skills to the test and expose you to real combat. Nessa?¡±

    Who frowned as she moved her vegetables about her plate. She had no appetite, Harald noticed. ¡°It¡¯s smart, I suppose. And Level 4 should be of no challenge to us. I¡¯d still like them to have another couple of weeks¡¯ training before we attempt it.¡±

    ¡°Oh, just like a mother hen,¡± grinned Vic, raising his goblet of wine. ¡°A couple of lessons and she¡¯s already clucking over you both. We¡¯re both heading down, Nessa, by Countess Sonora¡¯s request, so we might as well take advantage of her writ.¡±

    ¡°When?¡± asked Harald, trying not to sound eager.

    ¡°Four days¡¯ time, just before the monthly accounting period draws to a close. Countess Sonora¡¯s been, well.¡± Vic considered his words. ¡°She has something of a rivalry with Lord Gorkin. They¡¯re both Counts, but Gorkin¡¯s star is rising, while hers has begun to wane.¡±

    Harald considered. ¡°That¡¯s why she¡¯s willing to engage in risky gambles like backing me?¡±

    ¡°That might have something to do with it.¡± Vic shrugged. ¡°She and Gorkin have had some public spats, and he declared before several Dukes that she was a naked Countess. You can imagine how well that went over, especially as that¡¯s essentially true.¡±

    ¡°Naked?¡± asked Sam.

    ¡°It¡¯s not nearly as scandalous as it sounds,¡± said Nessa dryly. ¡°It simply means that she¡¯s little wealth beyond the publicly displayed Horizon¡¯s Whisper that maintains her status as a Countess.¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± said Sam. ¡°But she¡¯s secured Harald¡¯s wager?¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s not destitute,¡± drawled Vic. ¡°She has several Horizon¡¯s Whispers to her name, not mentioning her family assets. But she inherited an impoverished household, and is determined to improve her means. Especially as weakness in her circles draws vultures and hyenas galore. She must grow her wealth if she¡¯s to maintain her lifestyle, or cash in her public Horizon, turning herself into a very comfortable Baroness. Of course, that would be tantamount to admitting defeat, and inviting her foes to go for her throat.¡±

    ¡°Why does she have so many enemies?¡± asked Harald, curious despite himself.

    Vic waved a hand dismissively. ¡°Her father was a contrarian, and she herself has a stubborn streak a mile wide. She¡¯s inherited his feuds, but refuses to bend knee or apologize for the wrongs done to her family, especially since her parents were murdered but last year. It¡¯s a complex situation, tragic, yes, but the Countess is as fiery as she is beautiful. I do so enjoy consoling her.¡±

    Nessa picked up her wine glass. ¡°So she¡¯s asking us to step up the dungeon delves?¡±

    ¡°So it would seem. We¡¯re meant to hit the 16th Level, but I¡¯m planning to detour to the 4th first, then drop Sam and Harald off while bringing in the rest of the team. A warm-up.¡±

    ¡°Of which the countess is aware?¡± asked Nessa skeptically.

    ¡°What she doesn¡¯t know can¡¯t hurt her, and what matters is that we bring back enough Silver Starbursts to make the outing worth the cost of the writ.¡± Vic shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s a neat plan, and coincides with our needs. Surely you feel comfortable protecting our little chicks on the 4th Level?¡±

    Nessa shook her head in mock despair and sipped from her wine.

    ¡°I¡¯m ready,¡± said Harald. ¡°Which I know sounds foolish, but I want my class.¡±

    ¡°Same here,¡± said Sam. ¡°The sooner I¡¯m rid of Majordomo 3 the better.¡±

    ¡°We shall all miss it,¡± said Vic. ¡°The cooking, the clean clothing, the attentive and respectful presence as you shadow our every step. Alas, all luxuries are finite by nature.¡±

    Sam simply narrowed her eyes.

    ¡°Four days?¡± confirmed Harald. ¡°Good. In that case I¡¯m going downstairs for a little more line work.¡±

    Nessa raised an eyebrow. ¡°You¡¯ve already done two hours of drilling today. Are you familiar with the concept of diminishing returns?¡±

    Harald grinned wolfishly as he stood. ¡°I¡¯ll let you know when that starts happening.¡±

    Sam sighed. ¡°I¡¯ll be right down as well.¡±

    ¡°You couldn¡¯t ask for better pupils, hey Nessa?¡± Vic gestured at them with his wine cup. ¡°At this rate, they¡¯ll be protecting us in the dungeon soon.¡±

    To which Nessa could only smile in that dark and dangerous manner of hers. ¡°Unlikely.¡±

    ¡°Just wait,¡± said Harald, striding toward the stairway down to the gym. ¡°Give it a few more weeks. I may surprise you yet.¡±

    ¡°You already have,¡± said Nessa softly, he thought she said, but he couldn¡¯t be sure.

 Chapter 24

    The announcement that they were going to raid the dungeon coincided with a steady deluge of rain as a heavy storm front moved in across the city and drowned the world in the continuous rumbling of thunder.

    Harald insisted on continuing the morning runs, but they were miserable affairs. Sam was game. They ran for an hour, but by the second day their sodden shoes began to raise blisters, so he was forced to concede.

    Life was simple.

    Everything was reduced to training, eating, sleeping.

    But nothing was ever enough.

    His only limitation was physical weakness, and there was only so much he could force himself to do.

    Still, on the second night, Harald found himself unable to sleep. Body smoldering, his exhaustion customary, he lay staring up at the raftered ceiling of his bedroom, wide awake.

    In his mind he envisioned the longsword drill that Nessa had imparted, known as the ¡°Dungeon Square.¡± She¡¯d sketched the framework on the wall with chalk, which consisted of four quadrants superimposed over four concentric circles, with each segment labeled from 1 to 4. This numeric sequence dictated the order of strikes, guiding the swordsman to transition smoothly between quadrants, working their way in from the other rings to the inner, ensuring a rhythmic flow of attack.

    Over and over Harald envisioned his blade sweeping and cutting, whirling and slashing, upper right, lower left, lower right, then upper left, then dropping to the next concentric circle, moving to the lower right, back up to the upper left, and on and on in a mesmerizing pattern.

    Harald couldn¡¯t turn off his mind.

    Finally he tossed his covers aside, rose, and exited his room.

    The house was still and dark but for the storm raging outside.

    He descended without light to the gym, only to pause at the entrance to the cavernous room.

    Someone else was within.

    A single lantern was set on the floor close to the entrance, and by its light Nessa trained.

    Harald could only stare.

    She¡¯d been clearly been working for some time, for her body gleamed with sweat, and her blouse stuck to her torso in dark patches. Her hair was bound back in a simple ponytail, from which curly locks had escaped to hang before her face.

    She moved smoothly from stance to stance, her blade cutting and sweeping, its naked length slashing almost too quickly for Harald to follow.

    Only now did he truly understand her description of battle as a dance.

    Then, as he was about to cough into his fist, she sped up.

    Clenching her jaw, she put more energy into her guards and strikes, somehow blurring as her swept forth and drew back, leaped aside and then lunged. In half the time she executed double the strikes, and her blade gleamed with a lambent silver light all of its own.

    She struck four, maybe six times in only a couple of seconds, and then she sprung, her blade a cyclone about her, to fall into a crouch as she brought it down in a massive overhead strike that unleashed a flash of silver like a burst of lightning.

    A crash echoed through the gymnasium as if she had cleaved through a mass of glass panes all at once, and fine sparks of electricity ran up Harald¡¯s arms and jolted him even where he stood, easily a dozen yards away in the shadows.

    Nessa remained crouching, blade point down on the matt, leaning her weight on the hilt, gasping for breath.

    ¡°Damn it,¡± she hissed, her frustration obvious.

    ¡°Hey.¡± Harald stepped forward, palms raised. ¡°I came down to train. Didn¡¯t know you were here.¡±

    Nessa drew herself up smoothly, her expression closed and rich with disdain. ¡°You were watching?¡±

    ¡°Only because I didn¡¯t want to interrupt.¡± Harald tried to not let her accusatory stare make him feel like a creep. ¡°I¡¯m sorry if I should have announced myself.¡±

    Her haughty glare remained for a moment longer, but then her shoulders slumped and she looked away. ¡°It¡¯s fine. Not like there was much to watch.¡±

    ¡°Are you joking?¡± Harald smiled in amazed awe. ¡°What even was that final technique? You moved too fast for me to even watch.¡±

    She cut a glance back at him. ¡°That¡¯s no surprise. You¡¯re aware that I¡¯m a Level 4 Bladeweaver?¡±

    ¡°Vic said as much.¡±

    ¡°I have a number of Actives. I just haven¡¯t used them for awhile, and¡­¡± She trailed off, lips thinning in displeasure.

    Harald remained silent.

    ¡°And glory makes them harder to use.¡± She stared at her blade. ¡°Reason enough right there to not indulge.¡±

    Almost Harald told her how amazing she looked regardless, but that would just be an invitation for more disdain.

    So instead he strode over to the practice bags and drew forth his training longsword. His arms were tired, his hands sore, but still he took a deep breath, turned to face the chalked Dungeon Square on the wall, and settled into a deep stance, left leg forward.

    Nessa rested her blade over one shoulder. ¡°You¡¯ve already done that for an hour today.¡±

    ¡°Couldn¡¯t sleep,¡± he explained. ¡°Kept thinking about it.¡±

    ¡°Go on, then.¡± She moved out wide.

    He began with the first blow, blade cleaving down obliquely from the upper right, down to whirl and cut right back up from the lower left. Around and around he worked the sword, the progression slow and awkward compared to Nessa¡¯s sublime control.

    But Harald focused and didn¡¯t allow himself to grow discouraged.

    ¡°Move your feet,¡± said Nessa. ¡°With each blow, shift out to the side. Nobody fights like a post.¡±

    ¡°Right.¡± Harald had forgotten. He began the pattern again, blade up by his shoulder, then stepped out to the far right to cleave down in an overhead strike. As he cut back up along the same line, he leaped lightly to the left, then leaped back again as he reversed the blade and struck upward from the bottom right.

    Back and forth he flowed, until again Nessa called out.

    ¡°Enough. You¡¯ve got the basics, but not the understanding. Face me.¡±

    He did so with some trepidation. Only then, standing close to her, did Harald realize how pasty and sick Nessa looked once more, her eyes sunken, her lips pale.

    ¡°There Dungeon Square is more than a drill.¡± She raised her blade and smoothly, slowly flowed through all four cuts. ¡°These four cuts, the four quadrants, represent a tactical approach to combat. I attack you high on your left, you move your sword to parry.¡±

    She did so slowly, and Harald raised his blade to block her strike.

    ¡°That leaves your lower right undefended, which is where I strike next.¡±

    Her blade came down and around and rose to strike. Harald shifted to parry.

    ¡°Then I come at you from your lower left, you parry, opening your upper right.¡±

    Again she came at him slowly, and again he did as she instructed.

    Her smile grew dangerous. ¡°But then I begin to move faster.¡±

    At first the tempo helped make his own movements rhythmic, and the clang of blade on blade was both pleasing and simple to keep up with.

    But her pace kept increasing, as did the power of each blow, and soon Harald felt himself completely outclassed; his stance came apart, his arms grew numb, and each time he parried she simply smacked his blade away, leaving him wide open for the follow-through.

    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

    In a matter of moments he stumbled aside, overwhelmed.

    ¡°The Dungeon Square,¡± she said, voice calm as if she¡¯d not just torn him apart. ¡°A means to come at any foe quickly and brutally, to overwhelm them with a quick succession of blows, to shatter their stance and their guard, and expose some quadrant to your strike with which you¡¯ll kill them.¡±

    Harald nodded, wide eyed, hugely impressed.

    ¡°So.¡± She propped her blade on her shoulder once more. ¡°Resume your drill. But now envision your opponent. Move and strike, move and strike, and remember what you are seeking to do. The faster and smoother your Square, the more easily you¡¯ll overwhelm your opponent.¡±

    ¡°And if they know the Square?¡±

    Her smile was predatory. ¡°It¡¯ll avail them nothing if they haven¡¯t been taught how to defeat it. But that¡¯s a lesson for another night.¡±

    Abruptly Nessa gagged. She cupped her hand over her mouth and turned away, her shoulders hitching violently.

    ¡°Nessa?¡± Harald took a hesitant step forward.

    ¡°It¡¯s nothing,¡± she said, voice thick and throaty. She make a choking sound, then rushed to the wall where a towel bucket sat and crouched before it.

    Harald could only watch as she spat bile and gagged and choked. When the attack eased off, he approached, a cup of water from the great barrel in hand.

    Nessa looked up, eyes gleaming, face bathed in sweat, even as she wiped her wrist across her pale lips.

    ¡°I am a paragon of virtue,¡± she whispered, accepting the cup. ¡°Do as I say, Harald. Not what I do.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve left all that behind,¡± he said, feeling foolish, feeling young and naive and pathetic. ¡°You¡¯re making your own change now.¡±

    She laughed huskily, drained the cup, and then rose on unsteady legs. ¡°Is that so? Well, in that case I feel relieved. For a second there I was worried.¡±

    ¡°You can change,¡± said Harald. ¡°You just need to want it.¡±

    ¡°Oh Harald.¡± She reached out and cupped his cheek. ¡°Is that all it takes? If only someone had told me before.¡±

    He bit back on any more foolish words he might utter, and could only watch, helpless, as she gathered her black hair into a fresh ponytail, her elbows pointing at the ceiling, her mocking gray eyes examining him all the while.

    When she was done she dropped her hands. ¡°Sometimes desire is not enough,¡± she said, tone bleak. ¡°The finest walls will topple if built on a cracked foundation.¡±

    ¡°Then fix your foundation.¡±

    He fully expected a cutting reply, but instead her expression turned inexpressibly melancholy. She pursed her lips then walked away, blade propped over her shoulder once more.

    He watched her go.

    At the last, she turned back to look at him, eyes gleaming in the gloom. ¡°I wish I could, Harald. I wish I could.¡±

    And then she was gone.

    Harald scowled. Vorakhar¡¯s gift had reduced the world to black and white. You either trained, or you didn¡¯t. You either rose up early or your slept in. You pushed hard, or you gave up.

    On some level, he couldn¡¯t fathom why one might desire to be better and not accomplish it. The only reason you¡¯d fail was because you didn¡¯t really want it.

    But why would you want to fail?

    ¡°You idiot,¡± he sighed. Hadn¡¯t he spent most his teenage years choosing exactly that option? But now, standing here in the gym with a sword in hand, he couldn¡¯t remember why. Why had he chosen to slide into sloth and complacency, to lie to himself and refuse to act on his dreams?

    It had only been a few weeks ago. Surely that life, that Harald, was still something he could recall?

    Slowly, methodically, he set about the Dungeon Square. No hurrying, no sloppiness, just slow, steady strikes as he shifted from side to side, envisioning Nessa before him, parrying each blow.

    What did he know about her? That she¡¯d been accepted and rejected from the Conservatory. That she had a passion for music, and a reluctant genius for violence. Were her parents dead? No. Her father yet lived, he was a knight, wasn¡¯t he? But she didn¡¯t speak to him. She¡¯d cut herself off from her inheritance and family name, had taken to living on the streets. Vic had met her years ago, she¡¯d been fighting off¡­ was it muggers? Or had it been men sent by her father? He¡¯d been impressed by her skill, and stepped in to help, and they¡¯d been best friends ever since.

    Harald frowned. That¡¯s what they¡¯d told him. It couldn¡¯t be the whole truth.

    He slowly accelerated his strikes, sweeping them through the imaginary Nessa¡¯s parries again and again.

    But no matter how many times he struck, her pitying smile never went away.

    * * *

    Harald made the last two days count.

    His Strength and Dexterity rose by a point each, putting him at a spread of 8 across his Physical Stats.

    One point of Strength while working the Marheim weights, a bar across his shoulders, a bucket hanging from each end with over sixty pounds of stones in each.

    Dexterity came as he wove his blade through the forms. Practice increased his surety, which increased his speed. He spent more time sparring and working the bind with Sam, cutting at the Dungeon Square and lunging at an apple set atop a sternum-tall pole than anything else, and on his last day he was rewarded by the sound of glorious, astral trumpets sounding in his mind.

    ¡°A response from the Platinum Rose,¡± Vic said over dinner on their final night. ¡°I¡¯ve taken the liberty of watching for it. You don¡¯t mind?¡± He barely waited for Harald to shrug. ¡°And I¡¯m delighted to say that the estimable Master Ling has blinked. He is pleased to be of assistance, and given our desire for expediency, he is personally expending an enormous amount of personal favors to move our auction to the general house, with greatly lowered fees. Ha!¡±

    ¡°He never stood a chance,¡± said Nessa, sipping her wine.

    ¡°Nobody does.¡± Vic stretched back in his chair. ¡°Everyone sees a louche wastrel, and realizes too late that they were dealing with a veritable assassin of hopes and dreams.¡±

    ¡°Watch out Harald,¡± said Sam darkly.

    ¡°Barring my friends of course!¡± Vic leaned forward swiftly to smack Harald on the knee. ¡°Now eat up, everyone. Tomorrow we go a-delving.¡±

    Harald ate three full plates. He noticed that Nessa barely touched her food. Instead she took sips of her wine and fidgeted, her knee bouncing, endlessly curling her hair behind her ear before she excused herself to go to bed early.

    Vic watched her go, his expression turning sour.

    ¡°She¡¯s not broken the terms,¡± said Harald quietly.

    ¡°Emotional intensity is a trigger for glory cravings.¡± Vic sighed and took up his fork. ¡°Good or bad. That¡¯s what makes it so pernicious. She¡¯s already shrugged off the worst of the physical symptoms, but the prospect of the dive tomorrow is working her up.¡±

    ¡°Should we be taking her then?¡± asked Harald.

    ¡°She¡¯s a Level 4 Bladeweaver.¡± Vic pushed his food around the plate. ¡°Without her I¡¯d be far less assured of bringing back a good haul for Countess Sonora. And of protecting you two chickies.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s not a child, Harald.¡± Sam¡¯s voice was low. ¡°It¡¯s¡­ admirable that you want to protect her, but she has to decide she wants this.¡±

    Harald nodded, staring after the departed Nessa. The new, practical, hard-edged element of his personality acknowledged the cold truth of the situation.

    But another part of him, something deeper, something more perceptive, wanted her to pull through.

    Not just because he¡¯d had a crush on her for years, nor just because she was beautiful and mysterious and appealed to his desire to be a savior.

    But because of her potential.

    Like called to like, and he could sense her immense capacity for growth, for mastery, for dominion.

    If she could fight as she did now while laboring under the weight of glory addiction and pain, what could she do if liberated and freed to soar?

    Harald ate in ruminative silence as Vic held forth on what they should expect on the 4th Level, his own experiences there, and the tactics they should employ.

    But none of that would matter if Nessa was missing in the morning.

    Vic wouldn¡¯t escort the pair of them alone.

    Sam watched Harald warily as they tidied up the dishes, and when the time came to say goodnight, she bumped his shoulder with her fist. ¡°Stay focused, yes? We¡¯re about to take a major step tomorrow. We need to keep sharp.¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± he said, knowing he wasn¡¯t convincing her.

    They locked the doors, blew out the lanterns, and retreated to their rooms just as Tenth Bell rang.

    Harald didn¡¯t get undressed. Instead, he waited for half a bell, descended to the gym to collect some items, then rose to the entrance hall, and there sat in the chair closest to the front door, crossed his arms, and settled in to wait.

    Eleventh Bell rang.

    The darkness was near absolute.

    The old manor house settled, making strange clicking and groaning sounds as the old timbers accepted the coolness of the night.

    Harald¡¯s thoughts wandered. He thought of the coming raid. Of his last raid. Of Vorakhar, of Yeoric.

    He thought of Sam¡¯s resolute conviction. Of Vic¡¯s mercurial support. Of Ustim¡¯s betrayal, of the wide world contained within Flutic¡¯s walls that he knew so little about.

    And then, finally, he heard a soft tread on the staircase, so quiet that he almost missed it.

    Harald raised his head but couldn¡¯t make anything out in the dark, so, when he judged the moment appropriate, he bent down and pressed the button at the back of his father¡¯s scale-lamp.

    It blossomed to life, bathing the entrance hall in golden radiance.

    Nessa stood frozen on the steps, dressed in her leather armor, boots in hand, her longsword buckled at her hip.

    Her eyes were wide with shock.

    ¡°Evening, Nessa,¡± said Harald.

    She straightened from her crouch, a blush rising to her pale cheeks. ¡°Harald. What are you doing here?¡±

    ¡°Waiting for you.¡±

    She studied him, then descended the remaining steps with a light tread. ¡°I was just heading out for some fresh air. The rain¡¯s stopped. I¡¯ve always enjoyed walking the streets after they¡¯ve been washed clean.¡±

    Harald rose to his feet, tired, reluctant, resolved.

    ¡°You needn¡¯t have worried.¡± Her tone was as light as her tread, her smile amused. ¡°I assure you I can handle myself against any dangers in the Angelic Quarter.¡±

    Harald crossed his arms and held her gaze in silence.

    She flushed again and glanced away, then inhaled and took an experimental step forward. ¡°So¡ªI¡¯ll be going? You need not stay up.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re obviously free to leave.¡± Harald reached for one of the objects he¡¯d propped against the wall. ¡°Those were the terms. But I¡¯m asking you to change your mind. Asking you to stay, Nessa.¡±

    She glanced at the wooden practice blade in his hands. ¡°What¡¯s that for?¡±

    ¡°This one¡¯s for you.¡± He extended it to her, hilt first.

    Her voice grew sharp. ¡°I don¡¯t need it.¡±

    ¡°Oh, I think you do.¡±

    For a long moment they stood thus, till at last she took the blade.

    He picked up the second and moved to stand before the front door. ¡°Consider this a rider to our contract. You want to leave? That¡¯s fine. I won¡¯t call out for Vic, won¡¯t shout for Sam. You just need to get past me first.¡±

    Nessa raised a dark brow. ¡°Get past you?¡±

    Carefully, wearily, Harald sank into the Plow, the dull tip of his wooden sword pointing at her face. ¡°That¡¯s right.¡±

    ¡°This is ridiculous.¡± She set the wooden blade upon the closest chair. ¡°Get out of the way.¡±

    ¡°You come any closer and I¡¯ll strike.¡±

    Her brows lowered. ¡°All I need do is draw my actual blade and that toy of yours will be sliced to pieces.¡±

    ¡°You could slice me to pieces while you¡¯re at it. But that¡¯s not necessary.¡± He nodded to the wooden sword. ¡°That should suffice.¡± Now he smiled. ¡°Unless you¡¯re scared?¡±

    ¡°Oh by the angels,¡± muttered Nessa. ¡°I¡¯ll ask one last time. Please move?¡±

    Harald settled himself a little deeper into the stance. ¡°I¡¯m kind of comfortable here. You¡¯ll forgive me if I say no.¡±

    ¡°Fine.¡± She snatched up the wooden practice sword, twirled it around so quickly that the air moaned, then snapped it upright into a Plow stance of her own. ¡°This is ridiculous. But if you want me to put you in your place, I shall.¡±

    ¡°Come on then, Nessa.¡± Harald¡¯s heart began to beat faster. ¡°Defeat me, and your life is yours to ruin. But if you can¡¯t, you¡¯ll go back to your room.¡±

    Nessa shook her head pityingly. ¡°This isn¡¯t even a competition. But since you insist. My apologies in advance for what you¡¯re about to suffer.¡±

    Harald made no response. He simply flared his fingers on the leather grip, and watched Nessa glide toward him with murder in her eyes.

 Chapter 25

    Harald forced himself to breathe easy, to remain calm, shoulders back, blade steady. The scale-light gleamed down the length of his wooden longsword. It was ridiculous to stand against Nessa, a Level 4 Bladeweaver.

    But he didn¡¯t step aside.

    She approached him with furious directness, goaded now into finally raising her blade, and when she came in range she snapped it into a thrust.

    It was easy to parry, but then her sword swirled around his, guiding it effortlessly away, and stabbed into his shoulder hard enough to drive him back a step.

    ¡°This isn¡¯t a contest,¡± Nessa snapped, stepping back. ¡°I could break every bone in your body, your clavicles, your ribs, your jaw. Get the hell out of my way, Harald.¡±

    Who rolled his shoulder around and settled into his stance again. ¡°I¡¯m still here.¡±

    She rolled her eyes. ¡°You insist on a lesson? Very well.¡±

    Again she stepped forward, and now her strikes came too fast for him to follow. A blow to his forearm, a rap across his knuckles, a strike against his thigh, followed by a thrust just below his sternum.

    Harald sucked in air as he staggered back, pain blossoming across his body, but though his hand stung and the great muscle of his thigh was spasming, he didn¡¯t drop the sword. Instead he shook out his hand, forced a tight breath, and stepped forward again.

    ¡°What do you want?¡± Nessa¡¯s frustration boiled over. ¡°Have you become a masochist? You want me to hurt you?¡±

    ¡°I want you to go back to your room.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not happening.¡± She raised her jaw. ¡°You¡¯re just pissing me off. We¡¯re not all like you, Harry-boy. Perfect like tales of redemption. Some of us can¡¯t escape the sucking mud.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s all a choice.¡±

    Her eyes flared in fury. ¡°No. It¡¯s not.¡±

    And now she did hurt him. A savage demolition that involved a series of brutal strikes. Harald swung his sword back and forth, desperate to parry something, but she read his every movement and struck expertly through his flailings.

    His wooden blade clattered to the ground as he sank to one knee, head ringing from a blow across the temple. He reeled, fought the urge to keel over. Had he not become familiar with nausea and pain over the past few weeks, he might have conceded right there.

    But instead he blinked away the dazed blurriness of his vision, groped with numb fingers for his sword, and raised it shaking before him.

    ¡°You¡¯re kidding me!¡± Nessa¡¯s bark of laughter was acidic with shocked disdain. ¡°What do you think is going to happen here, Harald? That you¡¯re going to redeem poor little me? That your nobility will melt my heart, wash away my weakness, and leave me in love with you?¡± She pointed her blade at this face. ¡°If you force me to attack you again, I will knock you the fuck out.¡±

    ¡°Go for it,¡± he rasped, and with great effort, fighting against the stinging pains and throbbing aches, he rose to both feet.

    Nessa just stared at him. ¡°Do you think this is some prelude to romance, Harry? I could never love you. You¡¯re not my type, with that face, that¡­ body.¡± She waved her sword at him. ¡°You¡¯re just a pathetic, spoiled, rich brat whom we deluded for too long into thinking he was special. You¡¯re not. It¡¯s too late for you. You¡¯re too old, too weak, too¡­¡± She sneered. ¡°Get out of my way, Harald.

    Her words stung. Not that he¡¯d believed any of that, not consciously. But still they hurt, like dagger thrusts into his chest.

    Harald closed his eyes for a moment, caught his breath. Maybe she was right. About him, who he was.

    But that didn¡¯t change why he¡¯d come down here.

    He tightened his grip on his longsword and raised the tip, settling into the Plow once more.

    ¡°Fine.¡± Nessa¡¯s expression grew cold. ¡°Fine. Let¡¯s find the limit of your tolerance for stupidity.¡±

    And this time she did hurt him. Not raps and pokes, not sharp cracks and surgical strikes, but hard, bloody, two-handed blows.

    Harald tried not to cry out, but the pain was too much. He staggered back as she cracked his ribs, struck his knee hard enough to make his leg buckle, stabbed him in the gut with enough force to make him gag. The final blow to the head made everything go white.

    When he blinked back to awareness, he was laid out across the floor, his mouth tasting of blood.

    He blinked.

    The scale-lantern still glowed peacefully.

    Turning, he realized he¡¯d blacked for just a second.

    Nessa was opening the front door.

    His thoughts were scrambled. His ribs flared with pain as he inhaled. His fingers were already swollen, might be broken. Blood was running down the side of his face, wet and filling the seam of his lips.

    Gasping, trembling, he pushed himself up to all fours. His left arm was numb. It would be so easy to just rest. To let go.

    But even as Nessa opened the front door, he closed his left hand around his practice blade and rose unsteadily to his feet.

    The sound of metallic stars ringing out against the void filled his mind:

    The Demon Seed Has Stirred

    Your Strength has risen from 8 to 9

    Your Dexterity has risen from 8 to 9

    Your Constitution has risen from 8 to 9

    ¡°Nessa.¡± His voice sounded weird, as if it came from down the length of an echoey tunnel. ¡°We¡¯re not done here.¡±

    She wheeled around and stared at him. Emotions flickered across her beautiful face. Disbelief, horror, exasperation, and under it all, something raw, something pleading, something vulnerable.

    ¡°Stop, Harald. Just stop.¡±

    By the Fallen Angel it hurt. Wincing, he closed his swollen fingers around the hilt and raised the tip. Sank slowly into the stance. His right eye was swelling shut.

    ¡°You can change,¡± he rasped. The words came of their own accord, floating to him from the void. ¡°You can buy that white dress. You can walk into the Conservatory. You just need to want it.¡±

    She laughed, raising her eyes to the ceiling as she blotted sudden tears away, and then she was upon him, dashing his sword from his clumsy grip with a smack of her open hand.

    The blade clattered to the ground.

    Harald bent laboriously and picked it back up.

    ¡°Stop,¡± she pleaded. ¡°Just let me go.¡±

    ¡°I believe in you,¡± said Harald. He shuffled around to position himself between her and the door. ¡°Even if you don¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°But why?¡± Now the pleading was there, on the surface. ¡°I¡¯ve done nothing but belittle and manipulate you, use you, spend your scales. Why are you doing this?¡±

    Harald took a moment to find the right words. It felt like dredging up unyielding blocks of wood from a deep, sucking mire. ¡°Nothing is going to stop me from rising. Becoming the best. I will become unstoppable. But before, I was¡­ wounded. Turned against myself. I lacked¡­ clarity.¡±

    By the angels it hurt. Blood was running into his closing eye.

    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

    ¡°That clarity is mine now. I see what I want, and I will have it.¡± He raised his wooden blade and pointed it at Nessa¡¯s heart. ¡°I want you, Nessa. By my side. With Sam. With Vic. Rising. Climbing. Conquering. We can do this together. We can remake this world. We can remake ourselves. You have that hunger. You have the talent. It¡¯s just turned against you. I can help.¡±

    The words were coming from far away. He was barely aware of what he was saying. But his iron will, his Ego of 18, kept him locked and focused, even as his body yearned for oblivion.

    ¡°I can lend you strength until you find your own.¡± There. He¡¯d said his piece. Dry-swallowing, he slowly settled back into the Plow. Dropped the hilt to his hip, tried to keep the point from wavering. ¡°So come at me, Nessa. Strike me down. Or you can give yourself a chance. You can step back from the abyss.¡±

    Nessa¡¯s gray eyes filled with tears, brimmed, and ran down her pale cheeks. Those on her left cheek briefly followed the twin scars that ran obliquely across, then brimmed again and resumed falling.

    ¡°You bastard,¡± she whispered. She snatched up her wooden blade, raised it overhead as if to strike him down, a final, terrible blow, but then she bowed her head.

    For a moment she stood thus, shoulders shuddering, and then she lowered her sword.

    Painfully, slowly, Harald straightened, lowered his blade. He stepped toward her, extended his hand. ¡°Come on, Nessa. We can walk this path together.¡±

    Her blade slowly sank as if her arms were gradually losing all strength, and then it slipped from her nerveless fingers to clatter upon the marble floor.

    ¡°You bastard,¡± she whispered again, then inhaled sharply and raised her face just enough to study him through her locks of black hair, eyes glittering.

    Harald held her gaze, hand extended.

    ¡°You¡¯re making a mistake.¡± She ran her wrist across her wet cheeks. ¡°I¡¯ll betray you. Hurt you. Disappoint you.¡±

    Harald said nothing.

    ¡°I¡¯m broken, Harald. Some wounds you don¡¯t recover from. Some sins. You don¡¯t know anything about me.¡±

    Harald¡¯s hand shook, but didn¡¯t drop.

    She glanced at it, then gave a despairing laugh. ¡°How the world has turned! To think that you¡¯re offering to help me. I really have hit rock bottom.¡±

    And she took his hand.

    They didn¡¯t so much shake as simply clasp, and then she released him and shook her head. ¡°You look terrible.¡±

    Harald smiled wearily and moved over to a chair. ¡°Thanks.¡±

    Nessa hesitated, hand moving to her belt. She bit her lower lip, then drew out a scale. It was a Silver Starburst, its pale gold curvature catching the light and shimmering with an explosion of iridescent hues. ¡°Here. Take this.¡±

    Harald eyed it, then her.

    ¡°Take it,¡± she said, tone growing sharp as she thrust it at him. ¡°I apparently don¡¯t need it any more. It¡¯ll heal you, some.¡±

    A Silver Starburst was worth ten Copper Moons. He took it, turned it about. Like all scales, it was smooth when rubbed in one direction, abrasive in the opposite. Its underside was creamy white and nacreous. No larger than the circle formed by thumb and forefinger, it felt deceptively fragile.

    Harald glanced up, caught Nessa¡¯s stormy gaze, but she couldn¡¯t hold it. Crossed her arms and looked away, impatient, spots of color appearing on her waxen cheeks.

    This scale represented more than ten Copper Moons.

    ¡°Thanks,¡± he whispered, and absorbed it.

    The act was simple. You simply willed the scale to enter you, to pass through your skin. It glowed brightly, flaring gold, then faded from view as it melded with his essence.

    Warmth washed over him, as if someone had opened an oven. Pain melted away, tight knots and abrasions, throbbing aches and snarled muscles.

    His breathing deepened and smoothed out. His right eye partially opened. It wasn¡¯t a complete healing; even a simple beating took at least a Golden Dawn to be healed away completely. But the Silver cut the pain and damage by half, and that was more than enough.

    Harald stood. ¡°We¡¯d better rest up. Tomorrow is a big day.¡±

    Again Nessa laughed, the sound mocking as she hugged herself. ¡°Right. Our Level 4 delve.¡±

    He considered her. The old Harald would have offered a drink, eager to explore the new space that their friendship had moved into.

    The old Harald wouldn¡¯t have shut the fuck up.

    Instead, he collected both practice blades and picked up the lantern. ¡°I¡¯m heading up.¡±

    She glanced at him, surprised. It was clear that he was now willing to leave her downstairs, unguarded. She¡¯d no doubt expected him to insist she come with him.

    Hand shaking, Nessa curled a lock of hair behind one ear and gave a jerky nod. ¡°All right.¡±

    Harald took the lead, limping up the stairs, and after a moment Nessa followed.

    He led her to her room and stepped aside, lantern held down low.

    Nessa put her hand on the door then looked at him. A speculative, probing look, wary and hesitant.

    ¡°Good night, Nessa.¡± And with that he turned away.

    He felt her gaze between his shoulder blades till he turned the corner in the hallway. He didn¡¯t know what she¡¯d expected, feared, thought he might ask, but it didn¡¯t matter.

    He¡¯d done what he could.

    Now he had to rest, to sleep deep, to recover.

    Tomorrow was going to be a big day.

    He let himself into his room, got into his night clothes, and turned off the precious lamp. Lay back on the covers, fingers interlaced behind his head, and stared up at the gloom.

    Then, hesitant, he summoned his window.

    Strength: 9

    Dexterity: 9

    Constitution: 9

    Ego: 18

    Presence: 9

    The numbers frightened him. They were exhilarating, yes, but the abnormality of his growth was starting to verge on the impossible.

    He was just on the cusp of being as physically formidable as any active, strong person out there. A rugged day laborer, a promising raider, a hearty guard.

    And he felt the difference. Three weeks of extreme exercise couldn¡¯t have resulted in this rapid change. His muscles felt heavy and dense, as if infused with mercury. His step had grown lighter, his tolerance for effort, extreme.

    In two weeks he¡¯d blasted past the results of his previous efforts, the three months that had barely edged him up into the 7¡¯s.

    The growth in his physical stats had taken all his attention thus far, but now he focused on his Ego. That 18.

    It¡¯s what had allowed him to rise time and again to confront Nessa. More, it had removed his doubt.

    He considered this realization.

    The odds against him were astronomical. A little under two months remained for him to overcome Yeoric. He had no Class, no Ascended Thrones, nothing.

    And yet he hadn¡¯t doubted.

    Hadn¡¯t let his crumbling familial fortunes dissuade him.

    Ego 18.

    Was it his, or on loan from Vorakhar?

    I can lend you strength until you find your own.

    Was it his strength he was lending, or a demon¡¯s?

    Unable to resolve the question, he dismissed his window and turned onto his side. Despite the Silver, his body still hurt.

    He needed to sleep.

    But no matter how hard he quested for oblivion, it felt like forever before it came to claim him.

    * * *

    The storm had abated to a fine drizzle when Harald awoke at Sixth Bell. They¡¯d agreed to conserve their strength and skip the run that morning, so he instead set about doing a stretching routine, trying to unlock the residual aches from the night before.

    ¡°Breakfast is ready!¡± Sam called from the stairwell, just before Seventh Bell, and that prompted him to at wash his face and dress.

    The swelling of his right eye had gone down, but his face was still discolored, with mottled greens and blues around his eye and a red scab visible across his temple through his short hair.

    Ah well. Not as if he needed to worry about his looks.

    He descended to find Vic helping Sam in serving the food, freshly bathed and with his golden hair pulled back into a ponytail.

    ¡°There he is¡ªHarry!¡± Vic froze in surprise. ¡°Whatever happened to you last night? Did you try to seduce a mule?¡±

    Sam turned, saucepan in hand, and her eyes widened as well.

    Before she could protest Harald fended them off with raised palms. ¡°It¡¯s not nearly as bad as it looks.¡±

    Nessa appeared in the kitchen doorway, but drew back, suddenly nervous.

    ¡°I decided to try my luck with Gustav one last time,¡± Harald said, moving to pull out his chair. ¡°I thought it worth the beating. If I could find the vault before our adventure today, I could possibly gain some Artifacts, perhaps even Ascend my Throne with enough scales¡­¡±

    Vic stared at him, deadpan. ¡°So you brutalized yourself instead.¡±

    Harald shrugged. ¡°Nothing a solid breakfast won¡¯t help. Morning, Nessa.¡±

    Nessa slunk into the kitchen like a shadow. She looked even worse than the night before, exhausted and drawn, but she gave a pained smile and sat.

    Sam frowned. ¡°You both look like you need a week¡¯s rest, not a dungeon delve.¡±

    ¡°Would that the world gave us what we needed,¡± said Harald, shoveling scrambled eggs with mushroom and cherry tomatoes onto his plate.

    ¡°He¡¯s turned into a philosopher,¡± said Vic, pouring out glasses of juice. ¡°How fortunate for the rest of us. Of course, had you found the vault, I would hope you roused the rest of us before diving headfirst into the chests of scales. You have debts now, you understand.¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± said Harald as Sam sighed dramatically.

    They ate quickly, Vic encouraging them to put away as much food as possible, though Nessa once more barely nibbled on her own portion.

    Then they rose, took a half bell to don all their gear, and met in the entrance hall.

    Harald had donned his leather armor once more, and buckled his fancy longsword at his hip, though now its ostentatious hilt and the large gem in the pommel seemed ridiculous.

    Sam was suited up in her striking armor, but was staring at the marble floor, and only too late did Harald see some dried blood splatter from where he¡¯d taken his beating.

    She glanced up at him, frowning, but he gave a quick shake of his head. For a second he thought she¡¯d ask regardless, but then she subsided, turning to glare at Nessa instead.

    They donned hooded cloaks and headed out. Vic offered to pay for a carriage, and they jostled and rode down to the Dungeon Plaza. Flutic was gray and overcast, but its streets and avenues yet bustled; perhaps the cries from the costermongers were less enthusiastic, but after days of a veritable storm, this drizzle felt like a reprieve and the whole city seemed intent on making the most of it.

    Vic was in fine spirits, and regaled them nonstop with ribald tales of his adventures when he¡¯d first entered the dungeon some four years ago. Harald was sure half the stories were complete fabrications, but they kept the atmosphere light, and given Sam¡¯s intensity and Nessa¡¯s distracted stare out the window, it was all for the best.

    They spilled out into the dungeon plaza. The Humble Petitioner¡¯s line was short; few wished to stand all day in the rain. But a decent line was being quickly processed by the main gate where raiders with writs were intent on starting their delves early in the morning.

    A group of Nihtscua warriors seemed indifferent to the rain, their striking warpaint resistant to the drizzle, their wolf fur mantles bulking them up and making them seem all the more feral and alien.

    Beyond them stood a contingent from House Emberfell, distinctive in their fiery orange tabards and cloaks of slate blue. A trio of elves were next, elegant and ethereal in their mithril chainmail that hugged their frames like tailored clothing, each wearing an identical cloak of thick white fur trimmed with leaves of metallic green.

    Harald was studying the elves, fascinated as always, when a voice rang out behind him, hearty with cruel amusement.

    ¡°Look who it is! Lucine, it seems Harald¡¯s made new friends. Do you think they¡¯ll treat him as well as we did?¡±

    A cold anger caused his breath to catch, and slowly, deliberately, Harald turned to stare at the group that had stepped up behind them.

    Derrick with his shit-eating grin was looking back at his companions. Yeoric in his half-plate, Lucine the half-elf, and dour Gazurn with a new warhammer slung across his broad back.

 Chapter 26

    Both groups oriented on each other.

    Derrick placed an elbow on Yeoric¡¯s shoulder and lowered his tinted glasses. ¡°Oh hey! Is that Samantha? Yeoric, Harald¡¯s recruited his maid to go delving with him. And found more scales from somewhere to dress her up like an actual warrior.¡±

    Lucine arched her brow in scandalized delight. ¡°You can¡¯t be serious.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not safe in the dungeon,¡± said Yeoric gravely. ¡°You should know better, Harald. Taking your maid is criminally stupid.¡±

    Neither Sam nor Harald had a chance to respond, for Vic slid forward as if stepping onto a stage, his smile warm, his arms spread out wide. ¡°What do we have here? Oh my goodness, could it be? Don¡¯t tell me you¡¯re Ustim¡¯s catspaws? How delightful! To think we should run into oblivious tools like yourselves in the flesh! Be still my heart.¡±

    Yeoric¡¯s brow lowered as he studied Vic, and Derrick¡¯s jaw dropped as he adopted an expression of overt disbelief.

    But it was Lucine who sniffed, unimpressed. ¡°Watch your tongue, poppet. I don¡¯t know who you are, but I can assure you we don¡¯t suffer fools lightly.¡±

    ¡°Then however do you go to sleep at night?¡± Vic¡¯s expression turned stricken. ¡°Oh my poor dear. I¡¯d offer to find time later to console you, but I fear that would be inexpressibly boring.¡±

    Lucine¡¯s eyes narrowed.

    ¡°This is a waste of our time,¡± said Yeoric. ¡°We¡¯re here to work. Harald, get out of our way.¡±

    ¡°We were here first,¡± said Harald. ¡°Get in line.¡±

    Yeoric stepped closer, and hulking as he was in his plate armor, he positively loomed over Vic. ¡°I¡¯m trying to be polite. You should be ashamed of yourself, dragging this ragtag crew out here in the rain. Go home, or I¡¯ll get upset.¡±

    Vic went to respond, but Nessa reached out to touch his shoulder, sliding past Sam and Harald to step before Yeoric.

    Derrick let out a low whistle and grinned. ¡°Looks like Harald¡¯s raided both the kitchen and the whorehouse in search of a crew.¡±

    Nessa ignored him, and instead made a show of slowly looking Yeoric up and down. ¡°So you¡¯re the one who¡¯s going to duel Harald in a couple of months.¡±

    Yeoric stiffened under her gaze. ¡°Excuse my companion. He¡¯s an idiot. Who are you?¡±

    ¡°Your better. I¡¯m going to ask once that you leave the plaza. Go.¡±

    Yeoric¡¯s brows rose in astonishment, and then he cracked a toothy grin. ¡°What is this? A threat?¡±

    ¡°An ultimatum, sounds like,¡± said Derrick, lowering his hand to the pommel of his short sword. ¡°How about I counter your offer, hmm? We can leave the plaza together. I passed a suitable alley not far off. We can go down it and see what happens.¡±

    ¡°Tempting.¡± Nessa smiled, and gestured for Derrick to lean in as she cupped her hand to her lips.

    Derrick¡¯s smirked happily as he obliged.

    Nessa slammed her head forward, cracking her brow into the bridge of his nose, the blow so sudden that the other man didn¡¯t even have time to flinch. There was a flash of silver, and Derrick staggered back with a howl, hands cupping his face as blood suddenly streamed between his fingers.

    But the strike wasn¡¯t finished; it was the same Active that Nessa had used in the gym that night Harald had her caught her training.

    This time, however, she had viable targets close by.

    The silver light flashed from Derrick to crackle over Yeoric¡¯s armor, causing him to spasm and go stiff, even as it then jumped to Lucine and Gazurn.

    All three made choking sounds as sparks of silver ran over their bodies.

    The effect was brief, however; a moment later they regained their self-possession, and with cries of alarm drew their weapons as they dropped into combat stances.

    Awareness spread out in a ring from where they stood, people quickly catching on to the altercation.

    Nessa crossed her arms, a faint red mark on her brow from where she¡¯d slammed it into Derrick. ¡°Go on,¡± she said, smiling a crooked smile. ¡°Go on, Yeoric. Swing at me. See what happens if you force me to actually draw my blade.¡±

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t,¡± drawled Vic, stepping back. ¡°Have you ever fought a Level 8 Bladeweaver? Hmm, didn¡¯t think so.¡±

    Yeoric¡¯s eyes went wide and he glanced quickly from side to side. People were staring, and Harald was sure that the Mining Consortium guards would be on them soon. They¡¯d find one party with drawn weapons and threatening another group who¡¯d yet to draw theirs.

    Not a good look.

    Yeoric hissed and sheathed his blade. ¡°It seems you¡¯ve enough scales to hire yourself a real fighter, Harald. Lucine, everyone, stand down. We won¡¯t dignify this with a street brawl.¡±

    Harald stepped up alongside Nessa, but she responded before he could.

    ¡°If you come after Harald before the duel, if you decide to engage in pathetic threats, if you do anything to upset me, I will force you to eat each other¡¯s ears.¡± Her voice was low and deadly with menace. ¡°Now get the hell out of here.¡±

    ¡°You bitch!¡± cried Derrick, still clutching his nose as he jogged away.

    Lucine all but snarled as she strode after Gazurn.

    Yeoric remained for a moment longer, smiling, and then inclined his head politely to Nessa and turned to follow his companions.

    ¡°Level 8 Bladeweaver?¡± asked Sam, voice shaky with emotion and amusement.

    ¡°What?¡± Vic shrugged innocently. ¡°It¡¯s not as if they were going to pull out the Gazette and cross-reference her name.¡±

    ¡°Thanks,¡± said Harald softly.

    Nessa winked at him. ¡°What manner of blade mentor would I be if I let gutter trash like that walk all over you?¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s scary,¡± said Vic, tone earnest. ¡°I love that about her. Electrifying.¡±

    ¡°What was that technique?¡± asked Harald. ¡°The one that leaped from one person to the other?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s called Echo Strike,¡± said Nessa softly, turning to reorient their group on the line, most of which had realized the excitement was over and looked away. ¡°It won¡¯t drop an enemy, but it¡¯s good crowd control. It weakens their defenses and leaves them open to follow-up strikes.¡±

    ¡°Echo Strike,¡± murmured Harald. ¡°Cool.¡±

    ¡°Cool,¡± laughed Nessa mockingly, but there was warmth there, too.

    A couple of guards jogged up from the front of the line. Their leader, a heavily mustachioed man with a naturally belligerent glare stepped up to Vic. ¡°What¡¯s going on here? We heard there was a disturbance.¡±

    ¡°Oh thank the Fallen Angel that you¡¯re here,¡± said Vic. ¡°Everything was just going to absolute hell, but now it¡¯s all better. The villains saw you approaching and ran.¡±

    The guard scowled. ¡°Watch your tone.¡±

    But there was nothing for him to latch onto, so after a moment he growled a second warning and returned with his companion to the front.

    ¡°Ah, the hired help.¡± Vic shook his head fondly. ¡°What would Flutic be without them?¡±

    Harald was watching Nessa covertly. She¡¯d dealt with Yeoric and the others so smoothly, with such confidence. And it had been no idle threat; if they¡¯d actually attacked her, she¡¯d have cut them down.

    Probably.

    Four against one wasn¡¯t the best odds.

    But she was a Level 4 Bladeweaver.

    To have that kind of power. To be that lethal.

    Goals.

    Had Yeoric and the crew found him alone?

    Harald clenched his fists.

    He had to get faster quicker.

    The line moved forward quickly, and soon the four main gates loomed into view. They were simply a means of dividing traffic for efficiency¡¯s sake, much as the Iron Gate on the far side of the endlessly spinning dungeon portal was for the Humble Petitioners.

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    The four gates were arranged according to the target floors the raiders sought to enter. The first, the Copper Gate, traditionally served all the levels below twenty-nine. The Silver Gate was used by those seeking to enter levels 33 through 46, while Gold allowed people to enter levels 50 through 67.

    The final gate was the grandest, ornately decorated and carved with friezes of past glories from Flutic¡¯s history. It rose the highest, and seemed built to accommodate a passing army.

    But nobody ever passed through the Diamond Gate.

    Nobody in Harald¡¯s memory had ever dared enter below the 72nd Level.

    The lines sorted themselves before the target gates. Vic had led them to the Copper line, by far the busiest. A handful of seasoned raiders passed them by to be processed quickly through the Silver, but nobody approached the Gold.

    Not on this rainy morning.

    Still, compared to the Humble Petitioner¡¯s line that inched toward Iron, their progress was swift. All too soon the Copper Gate reared above them, sturdily made and decorated with copper and brass flourishes, depicting stout young heroes bravely facing all manner of goblins, wolves, and other common foes.

    There was a team of ten guards at the Copper Gate, four of which were working the taxation counter. Two stood up on the sturdy platform, while the remaining four processed raiders through the Copper Gate itself.

    ¡°Welcome to the Copper Gate,¡± drawled a heavyset woman. Harald did a double-take. Was she the same who¡¯d been working the Iron Gate a few weeks back? ¡°The great city of Flutic salutes her brave heroes, and welcomes those guests from abroad who wish to try their hands at the dungeon.¡± Her tone was much more lively. Perhaps she¡¯d just had some coffee. ¡°All who venture through do so at their own risk, and relinquish any right to charge the city of Flutic, the Mining Consortium, or any other governing body with responsibility for what transpires below. The city exacts a forty percent tax on all scales recovered. Do you agree to these terms?¡±

    Forty percent. A sight better than the sixty they charged at the Iron Gate.

    ¡°But of course!¡± Vic beamed.

    ¡°Then in the name of the Grandees of Flutic, go forth brave adventurers and wrest glory and honor from the remains of the Fallen Angel.¡± The stolid woman gave a perfunctory smile and gestured for them to proceed.

    No barked ¡®next¡¯, at any rate.

    Vic led their little group to the taxation counter, where the team of accountants smiled at him politely.

    ¡°Good morning, sir,¡± said their leader, a half-elf with half-moon spectacles and thinning blond hair. ¡°Name?¡±

    ¡°Victor Carmine.¡±

    ¡°Before you can proceed, you must register the scales you¡¯re taking inside.¡±

    ¡°But of course.¡± Vic drew forth his pouch and spilled its contents in one of the gray bins. ¡°Seventeen Copper Moons, three Silvers, and one Golden Dawn.¡±

    Harald blinked. That was no small sum.

    ¡°Very good,¡± said the head accountant, handing Vic a stamped ticket. ¡°And finally, please project total scales absorbed?¡±

    Vic smiled, and a line of glowing text appeared before the accountant, who made a note. ¡°Excellent, thank you. Next?¡±

    In short order they were processed. Sam had brought five Golden Dawns, which earned a surprised stare from Vic, while Nessa only had a handful of Copper Moons. She must have spent her last Silver on him last night.

    ¡°I¡¯ve got nothing,¡± said Harald apologetically. ¡°Just the Copper Moon in my lantern.¡± He popped the base out to show them.

    ¡°Very well,¡± said the accountant, handing him a short ticket. ¡°And your total scales absorbed?¡±

    Harald fought to keep his expression neutral. It always felt like a violation to project a part of your window to a stranger, but this was standard protocol for the Copper Gate and up, so.

    He focused on that one line of his window, and it appeared in the air before him. A measly 1,034/10,000. After all, he¡¯d have to do the same on the way back out.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± said the accountant, utterly indifferent. ¡°Proceed, and may the Fallen Angel reward your endeavors.¡±

    The guards up on the platform bid them step to a movable rope that was hitched across the platform. ¡°Stop here,¡± said one of the guards, a nervous young woman with painfully new armor. An older guard was listening intently, as if judging her performance. ¡°Welcome to the Copper Gate, honored raiders. From here you can access any dungeon level from the first to the, ah, 29th. That¡¯s floors 1 through 12, and then 16, 21, 25, or 29. Which would you like to enter?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll begin with the 4th, thank you,¡± said Vic warmly. ¡°Here¡¯s four Copper Moons with which to signal the dungeon.¡±

    ¡°Ah, thank you.¡± The girl flushed under Vic¡¯s smile. ¡°Very well. The 4th. When the portal opens, move forward and pass through it without stopping.¡± Her voice took on a rote cadence. ¡°Simply walk forward, the Gate will take care of the rest. Hesitation can result in a partial teleportation, which can be fatal, so keep moving once you start. Are you ready?¡±

    Vic glanced back at everyone, who nodded. ¡°We are.¡± Then he leaned in to whisper conspiratorially, ¡°You¡¯re doing a fantastic job.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡± She blushed even brighter. ¡°Thank you.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s enough, Julie,¡± rasped the older guard.

    Julie unlatched the rope so that the four could approach the far end of the platform. Nessa and Vic drew out lanterns and activated them, which reminded Harald to do the same.

    The alien dungeon portal revolved above them, its movements erratic, twisting, spinning, turning. Pentagons gave way to triangles, and as Vic moved to the fore it abruptly ceased, presenting them with an Iron Pentagram with four gold notches.

    ¡°Ready, darlings?¡± Vic drew his rapier and grinned at them over his shoulder. ¡°Here we go!¡±

    The pentagram hollowed out, seemed to swell as it swallowed the sky, and again Harald tasted metal as he felt himself drawn up into its dark heart, his feet carrying him up behind Vic and Nessa into the portal, to be consumed as the great polyhedron absorbed him into its heart.

    The next moment the four of them stood in a broad, dismal hallway. The air was damp and misty, and the walls and floor gritty with puddles, dirt, and lichen. The stone blocks were greenish beige, and rusted chains hung in great arcs from the ceiling, mostly flush against the walls, but occasionally draping across the hallway proper.

    An archway opened immediately up on their right, while a set of broad, curving stairs with no railing ascended behind them into the darkness. The main tunnel proceeded ahead, framed by the loops of hanging chain and occasional reinforced archway, to a far pool of icy, glacial white light that radiated from a hidden source and cast everything in that chunk of the hall into azure and emerald hues. Beyond it the corridor continued, but its depths were opaque after that bright pool of light.

    ¡°Ah, the 4th Level.¡± Vic straightened, rapier resting on his shoulder. ¡°It¡¯s a horrid mess, this level is. Endless looping hallways, dead-ends, and then suddenly, lo and behold, a perfectly perfidious little warren of ashen walkers. It would be dull if the decor wasn¡¯t quite so¡­ contrasting.¡±

    Harald glanced behind them. The golden radiance of their lamps illuminated a good thirty feet of dismal hallway, but then there was darkness.

    Nessa had her longsword in hand, and her very nonchalance reassured Harald, for she looked, if not bored, then decidedly unimpressed.

    Sam, on the other hand, was clearly wound up, her nostrils flaring as she breathed heavily, her knees flexed as if ready to enter a guard, her blade held out low before her. Still, her armor made her look all the more amazing down here, as if she were finally where she belonged.

    ¡°Samantha! Darling!¡± Vic put up his hands. ¡°You look positively terrified. It¡¯s just ashen walkers down here, absolutely nothing to be worried about. Seriously, take a few deep breaths and think of the ocean or something. You look ready to faint.¡±

    Sam blushed and straightened, clearly at a loss for words.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± said Harald, forcing a grin. ¡°I¡¯m as terrified as you are. Just because Vic¡¯s bored doesn¡¯t mean we shouldn¡¯t be wary.¡±

    ¡°Bored?¡± Vic looked offended. ¡°How could I be bored when I have you two to watch? You look ready to fight for your lives! It¡¯s very inspiring. I dimly recall being so passionate about raiding. Don¡¯t you, Nessa?¡±

    ¡°Hmm.¡± She clearly wasn¡¯t listening, but rather peering down the hallway ahead of them. ¡°Which way, do you think?¡±

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t really matter,¡± said Vic. ¡°I say up! Why not? It¡¯s a well known fact that raiders always turn left or go down. Let¡¯s buck the trend and seek our scales above.¡±

    They all considered the broad stone steps.

    ¡°Very well.¡± Nessa began to climb, moving steadily, blade resting in a relaxed Tower Guard against her shoulder.

    ¡°I¡¯ll go next,¡± said Vic. ¡°My reach allows me to stab past Nessa if need be, though I doubt anything will challenge her here. Then Harald, then Sam.¡±

    Sam was too nervous to argue, so they simply ascended as Vic suggested. There were perhaps some twenty steps which rose into a stairwell carved into the ceiling, and then almost immediately opened to a near identical second floor.

    ¡°Sam,¡± called out Vic, tone cheerful. ¡°Characteristics of an ashen walker?¡±

    ¡°They respond primarily to movement,¡± said Sam, tone tight. ¡°The more of them there are, the more dangerous each one becomes, because of some group intelligence thing. Um.¡±

    Nessa led the way down the hall. A fetid breeze brushed by them, setting the ubiquitous chains to clanking.

    ¡°Harald? Can you help her?¡±

    It was so strange to hear Vic¡¯s cheerful voice in this dank and miserable place. If Harald had appeared here alone, he¡¯d probably have been paralyzed with fear.

    ¡°They¡­¡± He took a deep breath, feeling an ache where Nessa had whacked his ribs last night. ¡°They form breeding warrens where some of them, well, they turn into webbing? You said something about their turning into egg cocoons that the others guard? I still don¡¯t understand.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t need a precise grasp of their life cycle,¡± admonished Vic, ¡°just to remember that a warren is far more dangerous than finding a patrol or solitary individual. You can find up to twenty ashen walkers in a warren, and that can become a real fight if you don¡¯t find a choke point. Sam, what else can you find on the 4th Level?¡±

    That¡¯s when Harald realized what Vic was doing. He was distracting them, keeping them talking, keeping them engaged. Not only did it reinforce what he¡¯d shared with them around the dinner table last night, but it was keeping his fears and paranoia at bay.

    ¡°What else, what else,¡± muttered Sam. ¡°Haunts, right? Not quite as dangerous as ghosts?¡±

    ¡°Haunts, correct. Usually at those places with bright blue light. They take awhile to manifest, and you can disrupt them¡­ how?¡±

    ¡°Sprinkle salt,¡± said Harald.

    ¡°Easy as that.¡± Vic flashed a smile back at them. ¡°What else?¡±

    ¡°Up ahead,¡± said Nessa, voice serious. ¡°Movement.¡±

    ¡°Ah,¡± said Vic, raising his lantern. ¡°It seems we¡¯ve come across a patrol of¡­ four ashen walkers. How delightful.¡±

    Patrol was definitely the wrong word, for the four monsters weren¡¯t walking so much as standing in a group, swaying slightly together as if to some unheard song.

    Nessa came to a stop just as the light washed over them, and the rest did the same. The ashen walkers were fascinating. Harald had seen drawings of them in the bestiaries in his father¡¯s library, but those failed to do the creatures justice.

    They looked to be made from abandoned wasp nests, their flesh layered and dusty white, and textured as if woven with countless coarse bandages. They were tall, their limbs spindly, unclothed and without sex. Their long, spidery fingers tapered into white porcelain claws, and their heads were misshapen, without eyes, tufted here and there by errant chunks of the same material that made up their bodies.

    ¡°Observe how they haven¡¯t reacted to us yet.¡± Vic¡¯s voice had become a stage whisper. ¡°They¡¯re much more alert in a warren, strangely enough, but out in the hallways it takes getting closer to rouse them from their slumber. When we close the distance they¡¯ll orient on us and leap to attack. Don¡¯t be surprised: a group of four can move quickly. Nessa and I will cut down the first two, and that¡¯ll greatly weaken the remaining pair, which we¡¯ll leave to you and Sam.¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± said Sam, and audibly swallowed. ¡°All right. Yes.¡±

    Nessa turned back to smile at them. ¡°They¡¯ll come right at you, arms extended for your throat. Use the Tower Guard, lop off their hands and they¡¯ll be pretty much defeated. Their bodies are tough; make sure you strike with strength, and use drawing cuts, not chops.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll be on hand to make sure nothing goes wrong.¡± Vic smiled. ¡°Ready?¡±

    Harald took a deep, shuddery breath. Nerves and excitement roiled in his stomach, and his grip felt sweaty. In the depths of his memory he could hear the shrill screeches of the dire rats, feel the pain of their bites, remember the nausea and horror as they swarmed over him.

    ¡°Ready,¡± said Sam, stepping up alongside him.

    ¡°Ready,¡± agreed Harald.

    ¡°One final look behind us to make sure we¡¯re not getting company,¡± said Vic, craning his neck, ¡°and then we set our lanterns out of harm¡¯s way. Nessa?¡±

    ¡°Try to keep up, Vic.¡± Her smirk betrayed all the casual confidence that Harald yearned for, and together they advanced, Nessa holding her blade casually down and behind her in the Tail Guard.

    Vic whistled jauntily.

    The effect on the ashen walkers was instantaneous. The closest twisted its head around with unnatural speed, which caused the other three to immediately do the same.

    Then, without any sound, the very silence making their attack all the more horrifying, the four walkers raised their porcelain claws and lunged.

 Chapter 27

    The ashen walkers rushed toward Nessa and Vic, both of whom stepped out wide and then struck as one.

    Vic lunged with his rapier, its long, lethal blade sliding effortlessly into his walker¡¯s head, piercing clear through with unerring accuracy.

    Nessa, mindful of the close quarters, swept her blade up from the Tail Guard, slicing both outstretched hands. This didn¡¯t stop the walker; it barreled in, but only for a second longer; Nessa¡¯s blade rose, twirled on the upswing, then cut back down in the classic overhand cut to shear clear through the walker¡¯s neck, down through its chest, and out the other side.

    The walker fell apart at Nessa¡¯s feet, dust puffing into the air from its mostly hollow chest.

    Vic¡¯s walker fumbled its claws at his blade, as if trying to understand what had happened, and then sank to its knees. Vic placed his boot on its chest and shoved it off.

    The third and fourth ashen walkers had slowed, grown tentative. They shuffled forward, grasping at the air and clacking their porcelain claws as they drew closer.

    ¡°Your turn!¡± Vic skipped back, making room for Harald to take his place. Sam did the same, stepping into Nessa¡¯s position, and then the walkers were on them.

    A thousand thoughts swirled through Harald¡¯s mind: Chest puffed, deep stance, breathe, here it comes, here it comes - !

    Harald brought his longsword down with a cry, striking as he¡¯d done a hundred, a thousand times in the gym. His blade caught the outstretched arms just beyond the wrists and cleaved through both forearms with ease.

    The walker made no sound, no moan or scream of pain. It just kept coming, stumps raised as if it intended to shove them in Harald¡¯s mouth and suffocate him.

    The Dungeon Square.

    Instinct and practice caused him to reverse the attack, to swipe upward from the bottom left and cut a deep tear through the walker¡¯s chest, a furrow inches deep from which more dust billowed forth.

    Backing away, he spun the blade back and down to cut up again from the other side, this time slashing off an arm at the elbow and cutting the walker again across the chest.

    His blade seemed to move of its own accord. The wasp¡¯s nest texture of the body was stiff, yes, but hardly as durable as he¡¯d feared; a moment later the walker crashed to its knees then fell facedown on the hallway floor, to squirm like a dying beetle.

    ¡°Put it out of its misery, Harry-boy,¡± said Vic from a safe distance. ¡°Don¡¯t be cruel.¡±

    Harald stabbed the misshapen head and the walker died.

    He was breathing in sharp pants, his body alive with tension and excitement, and only then did he realize: he¡¯d done it. He¡¯d killed a Level 4 monster without taking a wound. For all the excitement it had felt like a drill.

    Sam had dispatched her own, and now turned to flash a wild, victorious smile, her eyes wide, her chest rising and falling as she raised her blade and stepped back from her chopped up foe.

    ¡°Well done! Bravo!¡± Vic stepped forward top peer at both dead monsters, then beamed at them both. ¡°Calm, excellent precision, and no wounds taken! That¡¯s how we do it in the dungeon. Bravo indeed!¡±

    Harald couldn¡¯t help but grin. He felt foolish, sure, for Vic and Nessa had been on hand to ensure nothing would go wrong, but still, this had been real. Those porcelain claws would have fucked him up.

    But he¡¯d won.

    He¡¯d killed his foes, and now their scales were his for the taking.

    ¡°One each!¡± Vic moved to his own opponent and collected the floating scale that had appeared over its corpse. ¡°Three Copper Moons for myself.¡±

    Harald saw two Coppers hovering over his own. A pittance, sure, but now they felt like the spoils of war. He collected them, then hesitated. ¡°Should I keep them?¡±

    Nessa had moved to collect her own scales. ¡°Or absorb them? The eternal question.¡± She pocketed her scales. ¡°Can you afford to buy bread tomorrow?¡±

    ¡°We can,¡± said Sam, collecting her three scales.

    ¡°Only because you¡¯ve been footing the grocery bill,¡± said Harald. ¡°I¡¯ll keep them for now.¡±

    ¡°Then onwards,¡± said Vic. ¡°Let¡¯s find ourselves a warren and a real fight. For why do the ashen walkers locate their warrens where they do?¡±

    ¡°Scales cache,¡± said Sam, taking one final deep breath. ¡°Like most dungeon lairs. Monsters are drawn to where the scales are richest.¡±

    ¡°Exactly.¡± Vic sheathed his rapier and took up his lantern. ¡°The very basis of all ecology in the dungeon. Shall we?¡±

    ¡°Lead on, Maestro,¡± said Nessa wryly. ¡°Unless scouting will interfere with your lecturing?¡±

    ¡°I can do just about any activity while lecturing,¡± said Vic brightly, then turned to waggle his eyebrows at Sam. ¡°Literally any activity. I¡¯m very impressive, and very informative.¡±

    ¡°By the angels,¡± laughed Sam, amused despite herself. ¡°I pity your conquests.¡±

    ¡°As one should.¡± Vic raised his lantern and proceeded down the hall. ¡°After succumbing to my charms, their world is left gray and dull forever more. What is life after experiencing the blissful delirium of my company? Nasty, brutish, and short.¡±

    ¡°Poor Vic,¡± said Nessa, tone fond. ¡°He still believes what the ladies of fortune whisper in his ear. Ah, to be so naive again.¡±

    Harald and Sam chuckled, but this only caused Vic to glance back at them with a grin. ¡°Laugh if you like, but I didn¡¯t earn my class through combat. There is a truer, deeper meaning to being a Rapier Regent.¡±

    ¡°Darling, you¡¯re doing yourself no favors.¡± Nessa paused as they reached a T-junction, slowing to lean out and peer around the corner then in the other direction. ¡°Clear, but there¡¯s a light down to the left.¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s take a look,¡± said Vic.

    Harald felt amazing. Weeks of exercise and his stat gains meant this was the fittest and most energized he¡¯d ever been, and with the rush of the kill and the warmth of this camaraderie, he felt exactly where he should be.

    Sam returned his smile. She looked as excited and alive as he did, her cheeks colored, her eyes fever-bright.

    ¡°Never thought you and I would be hunting ashen walkers together,¡± Harald said quietly, stepping closer. ¡°But this feels so right.¡±

    ¡°I was about to say. My class skills are jangling and confused, but I¡¯ve never felt more alive. My Guardian¡¯s Vigil keeps trying to acquire the local tunnels as a domain and collapsing upon itself. It¡¯s hilarious.¡±

    ¡°Hilarious?¡±

    ¡°After years of resenting its calm and boring awareness of the pantry and mudroom? Yes.¡± She grinned. ¡°I won¡¯t miss it.¡±

    ¡°You think we¡¯ll get Class offers on this run?¡±

    She shrugged. ¡°Who knows? Maybe? I hope so. Having Nessa and Vic here is dampening the possibilities, but it¡¯s a trade off, right? Safety for experience.¡±

    ¡°Maybe one day you and I can come in here by ourselves,¡± said Harald, envisioning the prospect. ¡°Make a run of it, really test ourselves.¡±

    ¡°One step at a time.¡± But then she winked. ¡°But once we¡¯re ready, you¡¯ll find me ready to serve, Master Darrowdelve.¡±

    ¡°Eyes front,¡± said Nessa. ¡°We¡¯ve a large entrance past the light. Let¡¯s move through it quick to avoid dealing with a Haunt right outside a potential warren. This is the plan. Vic and I will move into the warren proper and get to work. Harald, Sam, you both hold the doorway. Stay just a step inside the hall so you can¡¯t be flanked. Mind your swings so you don¡¯t hit each other. We¡¯ll keep an eye on you both, and call out any commands as the situation arises.¡±

    ¡°By the angels I love her,¡± said Vic admiringly. ¡°When she gets like this I could just watch her all day. The flashing eyes, that tempestuous beauty, her command¡ªabsolutely enthralling.¡±

    Nessa raised a dark brow at him. ¡°You done?¡±

    ¡°Oh no, not nearly. Later tonight, once I¡¯ve gotten a celebratory bottle of wine inside me, I¡¯ll compose an epic in your honor. Just you wait.¡±

    ¡°Joy. I¡¯ll take the far side. You two ready?¡±

    Harald nodded firmly. He felt all jangly and nervous, his body shivery with anticipation. But Nessa¡¯s steady gaze helped settle him.

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    ¡°Yes,¡± said Sam, sounding composed and solid. ¡°Ready.¡±

    ¡°Then let¡¯s move. Don¡¯t linger in the light.¡± And with that Nessa strode forward, blade resting on her shoulder.

    Vic winked at them both and followed.

    The sharp, icy-blue light came from a lamp affixed to a piton driven between the blocks. Its woven metal sides were barely visible against the glare, and the temperature dropped as Harald entered its radiance. The pool was perhaps five or six yards in diameter, and his breath ghosted before him as he hurried through.

    Nessa and Vic entered the broad archway ahead without hesitation, and Harald hurried to catch up, only to pause, overwhelmed, just within the entrance.

    The room beyond was expansive, its vaulted brick ceiling supported by ancient columns, with sections having collapsed to either form precarious hills of masonry or sealed away altogether.

    But it was the webbing that caused his whole body to freeze up. Thick sheets connected the columns to the floor, to the ceiling, to each other, separating into strands and meshing in dense, dark clumps that acted like woven nodes.

    It was like a vision from an arachnid hell.

    And Harald hated spiders.

    Nessa and Vic had set their lanterns just within the entrance, flush against the walls, and the golden scale-light caused great shadows to project against the walls, to ripple and dance amongst the great expanses of webbing, to make the dark extremities of the room all the more menacing.

    Standing amidst the webs were over a dozen ashen walkers.

    Ten? Twenty? Harald couldn¡¯t tell. They all oriented on Nessa and Vic who¡¯d stepped into the warren proper, moving apart to give each other room to swing.

    ¡°The Fallen Angel wept,¡± whispered Sam. ¡°There are so many!¡±

    ¡°Stay sharp,¡± said Harald, stomach clenched, breath locked in his chest. ¡°Back into the hallway a little.¡±

    They both stepped back, but couldn¡¯t tear their eyes away from their companions.

    It was suicide to stand in the center of the warren, wasn¡¯t? To risk being swarmed by some twenty ashen walkers? And didn¡¯t they get more lethal the more of them there were?

    The ashen walkers didn¡¯t rush the pair at once, but gathered in a ring at a safe distance, giving each other time to form up, and then, only once they were all ready, did they leap forward, some springing over the thick ropes of webbing like fleas, others ducking and racing forward.

    An onslaught.

    And that¡¯s when Harald saw what Blademasters and Rapier Regents were capable of.

    Both of them blurred.

    Nessa¡¯s longsword flashed and wove amongst the walkers, parrying attacks that she couldn¡¯t have seen coming, lashing out to sever limbs and open torsos. Her first blow unleashed Echoing Strike, so that the silver flash crackled from walker to walker, playing over their plaster-like forms and torching them.

    Vic leaped forward, extending far farther than a lunge should have allowed, sliding the tip of his rapier into one foes¡¯ head and then retreating, his blade warping around him as he laughed, forming a web of steel, a flashing defensive barrier that lopped off hands and claws even as his very presence on the battlefield changed.

    Both of them were manifesting auras, Harald realized.

    Vic¡¯s turned his golden grace and devilish smile into something menacing, his mastery and brutality chilling to watch, making Harald feel reluctant to even imagine attacking the Regent.

    Whereas as Nessa wove through the fray, a sense of awe overtook him. It wasn¡¯t merely from her lethality, but rather how the very air around her seemed to thrum with palpable energy, a subtle power that resonated not just with her precision, but her purpose. Watching her, he felt his resolve bolstered, his desire to fight sharpened, his hunger to impress her, to be worthy of her company heightened.

    Both spun and slashed, parried and ducked, dodged aside and lunged forward. Nessa¡¯s blade never ceased to swirl about her, while Vic¡¯s was a wasp¡¯s sting, darting forward again and again, aim unerring as he pierced head after head.

    But even so, there were too many opponents; Harald saw an ashen warrior strike at Vic from behind, its porcelain claws raking down his back¡ªbut though his clothing sheared apart, the claws seemed to have little effect otherwise on the warrior.

    Nessa¡¯s protection was more subtle, but Harald could have sworn that two distinct blows were turned aside at the last moment by no discernible power, changing lethal strikes to glancing blows.

    The ashen walkers, Harald realized at last, had never had a chance.

    ¡°Incoming!¡± barked Sam, blade raised before her.

    A trio of walkers were darting toward them, converging from all sides.

    ¡°Ready,¡± said Harald. Nessa¡¯s presence steeled his nerves. ¡°Just like before. Just like our drills.¡±

    Then the walkers were on them.

    The archway was wide enough for two to come at them at a time. From the Tower Guard Harald hacked through the outstretched wrists of his walker, cleaving through one arm and sinking deep in to the second.

    The walker swarmed forward, taking advantage of his blade being trapped in its forearm. Harald almost panicked, almost set to wrenching at his sword, but instead he simply raised his leg and booted the walker in the chest.

    The monster was shockingly light. His kick sent it sprawling back and off his blade, and then he stepped in after it to stab at its head before he could recover.

    His blade slid past its head, missing by an inch.

    ¡°Fuck!¡± He retreated quickly as the walker surged back after him, keeping low, almost in a crouch as it wove to the side and leaped.

    But again the Dungeon Square saved him. Harald hewed down, cut the monster in the shoulder, drove it down to all fours. His blade came back, reversed, then swept up through its head, cleaving it in two.

    Sam had dispatched her first walker, but was giving way before the third, who had grabbed her sword somehow in both hands and was thrusting its way inside her guard.

    Breathing heavily, Harald turned, took a breath, then thrust.

    His blade missed again, but he recovered by turning the thrust into a drawing cut against the back of its neck, parting the woven skin and flesh and then he shouted in anger and kicked its legs out from under it.

    Down the walker went, Sam wresting her blade free.

    ¡°Harald!¡± Vic¡¯s bark was all business. ¡°Eyes front!¡±

    Another walker, but this one was lumbering, coming at him clumsily. Harald took a deep, shuddery breath, forced himself to reset his stance, blade up, and then stepped forward, deciding at the last moment to reposition himself past the corpses that tangled up the floor.

    The walker drew close, claws clacking in its eagerness.

    Calm.

    Nessa was half-watching out of the corner of her eye.

    Her example, her presence, her training.

    Make it count.

    At the last moment he lunged again.

    This time his blade slid right between the monster¡¯s claws and straight into its brow, punching into the spongy material to a depth of some six inches.

    The walker spasmed and dropped like a marionette whose strings had been severed.

    Savage satisfaction burned bright in Harald¡¯s breast.

    ¡°And¡­¡± Vic cast around, expression one of dubious surprise. ¡°We¡¯re done?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re done,¡± agreed Nessa, twisting to examine gashes along her side. ¡°Ow.¡±

    ¡°Getting sloppy, darling.¡± Vic winced and shook out his arm. ¡°Still, we didn¡¯t do too poorly. And you two! Veritable heroes!¡±

    Harald went to respond when a message appeared in before him:

    Your deeds have carved a path through the darkness.

    Your prowess has been noticed.

    By the authority of the Fallen Angel, you are hereby bestowed a new class:

    Steelheart Rearguard

    Do you choose to accept?

    ¡°Oh shit!¡± His gasp caught everyone¡¯s attention. ¡°I¡¯ve been offered a new class!¡±

    ¡°Already?¡± said Nessa dubiously.

    ¡°What is it?¡± asked Vic, drawing closer.

    ¡°Steelheart Rearguard.¡± His excitement dropped. ¡°It¡¯s pretty basic, but it¡¯s a class, right?¡±

    ¡°Steelheart Rearguard,¡± said Sam. ¡°That¡¯s pretty solid. They specialize in protection and counter-assaults. You gain Passives that prevent our enemies from surprising or flanking the party.¡±

    ¡°Not very glamorous,¡± said Vic. ¡°That¡¯s one of the most common classes.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s common because it¡¯s very useful,¡± protested Sam. ¡°It allows the party to focus on the fight ahead of us, knowing that Harald would be watching out for us and preventing ambushes. Trigger the description.¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± said Harald, and focused on the title.

    Steelheart Rearguard: Embodies the fortress of any party, a class for warriors adept in thwarting ambushes and securing the flank. These guardians excel in defensive strategies, ensuring no enemy can outmaneuver their charge. With vigilance and unwavering resolve, they shield their allies, enabling focus on the fray ahead, assured their back is defended by an unbreakable sentinel.

    ¡°What do you think?¡± Harald asked Nessa.

    She frowned, considered, then shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s a class.¡±

    His shoulders slumped. ¡°That¡¯s not very encouraging.¡±

    ¡°Aw, do you need a pat on the head, darling?¡± Nessa didn¡¯t smile, but her eyes gleamed. ¡°You¡¯re a big boy. Decline if you want to hold out for something better.¡±

    ¡°The Fallen Angel is commonly held to be a female,¡± said Vic. ¡°Due to her fickle nature and the ease with which she takes offense. If you refuse, she might take her sweet time in making you another offer.¡±

    ¡°Sexist pig,¡± said Nessa, tone even.

    ¡°Accurate,¡± agreed Vic. ¡°But my statement stands. Declining could mean weeks if not months lost before another offer is made.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re making this offer actually sound like a bad thing,¡± protested Harald.

    ¡°It¡¯s not.¡± Sam¡¯s tone was firm. ¡°It¡¯s a solid class. You could accept it, level it till your fight with Yeoric, then replace it and start fresh with something better. And the fact that you received a class offer after only two fights in the dungeon is incredible.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s got a point,¡± allowed Vic. ¡°Though I was hoping for something that would better nullify Yeoric¡¯s Iron Vanguard. He specializes in front defenses, while you would specialize in party defense. He¡¯d have the advantage on that one.¡±

    ¡°Having Actives and Passives is the real advantage,¡± said Nessa. ¡°Without them, he might as well not show up.¡±

    ¡°And if you accept it now,¡± continued Sam, ¡°you¡¯ll have a couple of months to grow comfortable with your powers, develop new ones, and level up.¡±

    ¡°Damn it.¡± Harald stared at the message hovering before him. ¡°I guess you¡¯re right. I can¡¯t risk being given a class only a couple of weeks before the fight. I can always change it later if I need to.¡±

    ¡°Ho hum,¡± said Vic. ¡°A safe but boring choice.¡±

    ¡°It has the merits of increasing the odds of his winning his duel,¡± said Nessa. ¡°And you said it yourself. Declining this offer could delay a second offer by months.¡±

    ¡°Fine,¡± said Harald. ¡°It¡¯s not what I wanted, but it¡¯s better than nothing.¡±

    ¡°Better than I got, at any rate,¡± said Sam.

    The golden scale-light abruptly began to shrink as the shadows darkened and began to ooze forward.

    ¡°What the hell?¡± Vic swept his blade around in a gleaming arc, even as Nessa entered the Roof Guard, blade raised high and pointing behind her, tension radiating from her in a way it hadn¡¯t even in the heart of the ashen walker battle.

    The warren was filling with that familiar, horrifying purple radiance. Purple light, soft and deep, gradating to black, but in the center a figure was forming, tall and terrifying.

    ¡°Oh shit,¡± whispered Harald. ¡°Everyone, get back!¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Nessa darted him a furious glance. ¡°What is it?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a demon!¡± Harald raised his longsword, heart hammering, panic gripping his mind like a drug-addict trying to pry open a lockbox. ¡°It¡¯s¡ª¡±

    Vorakhar formed a moment later, as august and cruel as before. His horns swept back and rose toward the ceiling, his luxurious, jet-black coat hung like a cloak from his broad shoulders, its inner lining a rich purple. He wore a white cravat that hung in ruffles down his chest, a gold chain looping from its knot to disappear under the coat¡¯s lapel.

    Wicked elegance personified, he stared under lowered brows at Harald, his smile caustic, horrifying, heart-stopping.

    Did you think I expended all this effort for you to waste yourself on such a plebian class?

    ¡°Harald! Sam!¡± Nessa¡¯s bark was taut with fear. ¡°Run! Vic and I will hold it off!¡±

    Fell power radiated from the demon like invisible waves slamming against a cliff at night.

    Vic had a better sense of what they faced. He was backing away, eyes wide in horror.

    Decline that class, said Vorakhar, voice resonating in the depths of Harald¡¯s skull. And I shall grant you something truly worthy of your potential.

 Chapter 28

    Vorakhar dominated the warren, his form somehow more real than everyone else in it, as if he were made of more compelling flesh, the light forming a purple nimbus around him.

    Harald, mouth dry, felt as if he were suddenly wading in honey. The demon¡¯s burning gaze had him frozen in place, its presence so commanding, its features so strong and haughty, that it felt as if they were all reduced to children in its presence.

    Nessa tore herself free of its influence and raised her shining blade.

    Her intent tore Harald free of his paralysis. ¡°Nessa, no!¡±

    Vorakhar¡¯s burning gaze flicked across to the Bladeweaver, his eyes narrowing but a fraction, and then he gestured and a spike of purple energy impaled Nessa through the chest, passing through her to hit the ground and there remain. It was a metaphysical wound; no blood, no torn flesh, but Nessa¡¯s whole body went rigid, her sword dropping from her hands, her eyes bulging as veins stood out across her face, her skin darkening.

    ¡°Let her be!¡± barked Harald, taking three rapid steps forward. ¡°Stop it!¡±

    She isn¡¯t harmed. Not physically. Vorakhar considered the impaled woman, utterly indifferent to her agony. But what an interesting specimen. Veins of rot stretch through her spirit. With but just a little manipulation she could become a worthy tool¡­

    ¡°Harald?¡± Vic¡¯s voice was low and serious. ¡°You know this thing?¡±

    It was awful. Every second that passed was one in which Nessa writhed. Harald had to end this. ¡°Fine! I¡¯ll decline the class. Just let her go.¡±

    You care for her? Vorakhar drifted over to where Nessa stood bent back like a drawn bow, pierced still by that burning purple light. She cares not for you. Not in that mating, rutting way that you humans so crave. His burning gaze flicked over to Harald. I could change that. Do you desire her adoration?

    ¡°No.¡± Harald fought for calm, to keep his tone under control. ¡°Please. Just let her go.¡±

    ¡°We need to leave,¡± said Vic, still backing toward the door. ¡°This is so far beyond us we cannot¡­ our only hope is to flee.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m with you,¡± said Sam, stepping up alongside Harald, and that simple act of bravery warmed his heart more than anything he could have imagined.

    ¡°Look. I¡¯m doing it now.¡± Harald summoned the class offer and declined. The message faded away slowly, as if reflecting the Fallen Angel¡¯s regret over his choice. ¡°Now. Please. Let Nessa go.¡±

    Very well. Vorakhar gestured once more, and the purple spike disappeared, causing Nessa to crash down to her knees and there draw huge lungful¡¯s of air, her head bowed, her expression dazed. Then let us depart for more welcoming climes. Come, Harald. Prove your worth.

    And the demon gestured again, a more complex, intricate weaving of his gloved fingers. A portal opened beside it, an oval of black swirling energy shot through with flashes of purple fire.

    A genuine, free-standing portal.

    ¡°All right.¡± Harald sheathed his longsword, missing his scabbard the first two times before guiding his blade in with his free hand. ¡°Sam, Vic, take care of Nessa.¡±

    ¡°What are you bloody doing?¡± hissed Vic. ¡°You can¡¯t go with that thing. It¡¯s a fucking demon, Harald.¡±

    Sam seized Harald¡¯s arm. Her terror was right beneath the skin, causing her to hyperventilate as she stared at the demon just beyond, her eyes wide, her pupils so dilated that her blue irises were slender circles around the black. ¡°I¡¯ll come with you.¡±

    ¡°No, Sam.¡± He pried her fingers loose. ¡°You don¡¯t know what you¡¯re saying.¡±

    Another fascinating soul, said Vorakhar, canting his horned head to one side as he stared at Sam. A¡­ Majordomo? Ah, but that is rich. Yet I sense great potential within her. The strength is brittle, but the passion runs deep, and she has a remarkable tolerance for pain. Bring her, Harald. She shall be your squire.

    ¡°I¡¯ll come,¡± said Sam, raising her chin, knuckles white around the hilt of her sword.

    Then enter, said Vorakhar. Now.

    ¡°Sam, no!¡± Harald went to snatch at her, but she twisted away, lithe and determined, and glancing back at him strode toward the portal.

    ¡°You¡¯re both mad!¡± Vic¡¯s panic was rising into anger. ¡°What the hell is going on?!¡±

    ¡°Sam!¡± Harald dashed after her. But she skipped ahead, and to his horror glanced only once at the demon before stepping into the portal. ¡°No!¡± He glared at Vorakhar, his horror daring him to hold the demon¡¯s stare. ¡°Leave her out of this!¡±

    She makes her own decisions. Best hurry. She¡¯s alone on the 47th Level.

    The 47th Level? Harald¡¯s mind reeled. That was accessible only through the Silver Gate.

    Horrified, Harald rushed to the portal. His shoulders were rising and falling, his horror and fury twining together. Nessa was just now recovering, raising her face, expression confused and wounded. Vic had backed all the way to the door.

    ¡°Damn it,¡± he hissed, and leaped into the portal.

    Harald felt a wrenching sense of dislocation; it felt as if he were abruptly plummeting in every direction, his gorge rising, a scream tore itself free from his throat and then all slammed back into place.

    He stumbled then dropped to one knee as he fought the urge to vomit.

    Much better, said Vorakhar, appearing beside him. Relax, Harald. First we shall converse, and then you shall earn your class.

    Harald raised his gaze to take in the level. It was as different from the 4th as could be. Gone were the tunnels, the ceiling, the sense of being underground. Instead, the three of them now stood in an overgrown clearing in the midst of white marble ruins that stretched away in every direction. Broken arches, free standing fluted columns, ragged walls, the remains of statues upon plinths. Over it all grew vibrant green ivy, with willow trees rising here and there, their hanging branches gently stirring in the breeze.

    Overhead stretched a pale blue sky, but one without depth, without clouds or details. It could have been painted on the inside of a distant hemisphere for all Harald could tell, and its artificiality somehow made the endless ruins feel all the more disconcerting for it.

    Sam was turning in a slow circle, deep in the Plow Stance, blade raised before her as she tried to glance in every direction at once.

    Relax, my dear. Nothing on this floor shall bother us while I am here. Vorakhar sat back, a throne of black metal appearing just in time to prevent him from falling to the floor. His coat spread over the throne, revealing its rich inner purple lining, while a side table complete with a ruby decanter and three glasses at hand. He leaned back, at ease, and crossed one leg over the other. Your name, girl.

    Sam glanced at Harald, but he had no guidance to give her. ¡°Samantha Tuppins. You¡¯re Vorakhar. The demon Darius Darrowdelve said he slew.¡±

    Did he now? Vorakhar grinned. How quaint. I can see deep bonds between the pair of you. Childhood friends?

    ¡°I was oathbound to the Darrowdelves,¡± said Sam defiantly. ¡°Harald freed me a couple of weeks ago.¡±

    Did he now. Harald is indeed much changed. How have you fared since last we spoke?

    Harald was slowly regaining his self-possession. Other than clouds of black butterflies that drifted along with the breeze, the floor thus far seemed unpopulated, and it was clear that Vorakhar wasn¡¯t intent on killing them just yet.

    ¡°I¡¯ve been working hard.¡± And suddenly a dozen questions were pushing to the fore. But only one truly mattered. ¡°What did you do to me?¡±

    Do, Harald? I liberated you. I flensed the dead weight from your soul. The fat from the muscle.

    Panic, fear, and an overriding need to know demanded he continue to ask. ¡°But¡­ I¡¯m able to focus now, do things I never could¡­ my¡­ all my tolerance for weakness¡­ am I¡­?¡±

    Are you yourself? Or have I made you my own creature, twisted your mind and soul to my own design, so that you merely think you are Harald Darrowdelve, but are, in fact, an eidolon of my creation?

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    ¡°Yes,¡± croaked Harald.

    Vorakhar smiled again, and the giant ruby stopper atop the bottle floated free. The decanter lifted up of its own accord, and poured an inky-black drink into each of the three glasses. Let me set your spirit at ease, Harald. You are your best self. If everything in your life had gone optimally, if ever encounter, every word, every experience had reinforced your greatness instead of crushing it, this is whom you would have naturally been. I simply reached into your soul and pulled forth that lost potential. Not everyone has it. Few do. But in you hid a golden richness that few are fortunate to possess, a rare combination of idealism, desire, ambition, hunger, and strength. A richness that was lost when I found you, dying on the 1st Level. A richness that I have restored.

    Harald wanted so desperately to believe him. To accept that as truth and worry no more. But.

    ¡°Why? Why did you do this to me?¡±

    Oh Harald. Your ignorance is stupefying, and I did not bring you here to elucidate my ways and ambitions. Suffice to say that there is a celestial war taking place in the depths of this dungeon, and we can both profit from your growing strong. Hew to your ambition. Be true to your nature. Grow strong, Harald. Accept no limitations. Walk the path you have set out on. But in order to succeed, you shall need worthy companions.

    And here he turned to consider Samantha. And this delicious morsel could prove up to the task. Tell me, Ms. Tuppins. Do you desire greatness?

    Sam didn¡¯t hesitate. ¡°I do.¡±

    At first glance you have an admirable psychological composition. But you are crippled by an artificial sense of obligation and a fundamental lack of self-worth. In your heart of hearts, you believe yourself unworthy of the greatness you seek. You¡¯ve convinced yourself that martyrdom is noble, that -

    ¡°Stop,¡± said Sam.

    - you are fundamentally damaged, and thus can never be worthy of true respect, true admiration. Your life as an oathbound has made you akin to a mare, a noble beast, whose strength and purpose can best be marshalled to drive others forward.

    Sam¡¯s face had gone pale, her eyes wide. She raised her blade again, the muscles of her forearms snarling in to relief from how tightly she gripped her blade.

    Vorakhar sounded pitying. You could be so much more, Ms. Tuppins. More than a powerful body honed to perfection, more than a blade, a tool. The very swiftness with which you threw yourself into my portal speaks to your lack of self worth. I could change that. Ask it of me, and I shall Endow you with true greatness.

    Harald felt helpless, horrified. ¡°Sam, don¡¯t listen to him. You¡¯re amazing. I only took his gift because I was dying. You don¡¯t need this.¡±

    Poor Ms. Tuppins. Now Vorakhar¡¯s tone turned cruel. She¡¯s worked so very hard to be useful. To make a difference in the world. But nobody takes her seriously, because they all know exactly what she is. A little maid, so brave, so foolish, destined to die just before the final act so that the true hero can confront the monster. Poor, poor Ms. Tuppins.

    ¡°You brought us here to help us find our Classes,¡± snapped Harald. ¡°Not torment us.¡±

    Vorakhar smiled. I do as I wish, Harald. If I wish to torment you for a hundred years, then I shall do so. Don¡¯t forget with whom you treat.

    ¡°No.¡± Sam inhaled sharply. ¡°No. I don¡¯t want your gift.¡±

    A pity. Vorakhar didn¡¯t seem upset. But I admire your integrity, even if it stems from the very source of weakness I offer to excise. No matter. Remain as your are, oathbound in spirit even if you¡¯re no longer so constrained. Let us turn to assisting you in acquiring a class more suitable to your ambitions. The Fallen Angel awards classes based on contextual catalysts and the severity of the threat. The deeper you are in the dungeon, the more extreme your need, and the rarer the class offered. Most raiders only delve within the first twelve layers, and thus face little real danger. Here on the 47th, you shall be truly challenged.

    ¡°We can¡¯t fight anything down here,¡± protested Sam. ¡°This is Silver ranked. Only the most elite of Flutic¡¯s raiders would even dream of delving here.¡±

    Sad but true. How far your city has fallen. Without my aid you would be devoured by the first fiend you stumbled across in an instant. But. And here Vorakhar smiled. You are not here alone.

    Sam stepped up alongside Harald. She was shivering, as if they stood in a freezing gale. ¡°How are you going to help us?¡±

    Harald wanted to hug her, to refute the words the demon had spoken, to lend her what strength he could. He¡¯d never seen her this shaken, this fragile, this raw. But her gaze was locked on the demon.

    Drink. Drink deep of this elixir. It shall for a spell restore your health no matter what injuries you are dealt. You shall effectively be immortal while its power courses through you, for nothing on this paltry Level can overcome its magic.

    Two of the glasses floated over to them. Harald took his warily, and stared deep into the black liquid within.

    It¡¯s potency shall last for an hour, after which its potency shall decline. I encourage you to provoke the Fallen Angel into bestowing you a class before the healing process becomes too¡­ protracted.

    ¡°Are there any other side effects?¡± asked Harald.

    Vorakhar laughed. You fear that I poison you? I assure you, Harald, I have no need. All I desire is your greatness. Drink, and be glad. The forgotten ranks of the Fallen Angel¡¯s greatest classes shall be opened to you. If you can but provoke her interest.

    Sam raised the glass and drank convulsively, draining it to the very last drop.

    Harald grimaced, but there was no real choice in the matter, so he did the same. To his surprise the drink had almost no flavor, just a gentle, smoky, almost fruity sweetness that didn¡¯t linger on the tongue.

    But he immediately felt a energized, as if he¡¯d just emerged from an icy bath.

    Now venture forth, children. Court death eagerly while it is banished from your door. Don¡¯t hesitate to decline what the Angel offers. Your predicament here is so outrageous that she¡¯ll continue to make her offers for as long as you fight. Now, I shall take my leave. Do not count on my return, for other, greater matters call for my attention. If you fail to earn your class before the elixir fades, then you shall have proven a poor investment on my part, and I shall leave you here to your fate.

    Vorakhar smiled, gestured, and then he, his throne, decanter and everything else disappeared.

    Sam immediately hugged herself and closed her eyes.

    ¡°Hey.¡± Harald drew closer. If she didn¡¯t have a live blade propped over one shoulder, he¡¯d have embraced her. ¡°Drive all that nonsense from your mind. He¡¯s a demon. He¡¯d say anything to get you to agree to his offer.¡±

    She nodded, but kept her eyes closed.

    ¡°Hey.¡± Carefully, he stepped in and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. ¡°He was lying, messing with you. He¡¯s a demon. Don¡¯t take what he said seriously.¡±

    Again she nodded, but then her expression crumpled and she sank into a crouch,  dropping her sword and burying her face in her gloved hands.

    Harald glanced around the ruined square in which they stood, then crouched next to her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders once more.

    For awhile she just cried silently, wrestling with the tears, but just as abruptly she stopped and set to wiping her face dry. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she said, voice hoarse with emotion. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. This isn¡¯t the time. I¡¯m being stupid.¡±

    Harald kept a wary eye on their environs. ¡°No, you¡¯re not. You were just assaulted. This isn¡¯t stupid.¡±

    ¡°It is stupid. I chose to come here because I¡¯m your friend.¡± She took up her sword and stood. ¡°I¡¯m good. I promise.¡±

    She wasn¡¯t. But what could Harald do? He stood and turned again to consider where they stood. A low wall encircled them in the near distance, with a huge willow tree in the corner. Underfoot ancient flagstones buckled and were lost under a thin layer of dirt and long grass.

    They could effectively go in any direction. A shattered archway led one way, gaps in the wall in another. Nothing was so effective a barrier as to prevent them from going where they wished. Not that he could see far; the ruins in aggregate blocked his line of sight, along with the random trees or heavy blankets of vines.

    ¡°The 47th Level.¡± He propped his blade against his shoulder like Nessa normally did, both hands on the hilt, ready for the Tower Stance at a moment¡¯s notice. ¡°You remember anything about it?¡±

    ¡°Not much,¡± admitted Sam, wiping her leather bracer against her cheek one last time. She took a moment to gather herself, then her gaze sharpened. ¡°The 40¡¯s are the highest levels accessed through the Silver Gate. You can portal to either the 42nd or 46th Level, and then work your way down here. Um. The 40¡¯s are supposed to reflect the broken dreams of the Fallen Angel, her shattered memories of the aether. The monsters found in the 40¡¯s are thus twisted reflections of her previous state.¡±

    ¡°All right,¡± said Harald. ¡°Well, we don¡¯t have too much time. Let¡¯s proceed carefully and see if we can¡¯t pick our battles.¡±

    ¡°Right.¡± Sam sniffed and settled her shoulders, the gleaming pauldrons shifting over the chainmail sleeves. ¡°I don¡¯t want a berserker class. Let¡¯s move in the way we want to be rewarded.¡±

    Harald led the way, crossing through the knee-high grass, moving toward the archway. The very stillness was unnerving. He had to consciously keep his breathing deep and regular, to not tighten up, to not continuously twist around to try and keep everything in sight.

    The 47th Level.

    ¡°You know,¡± he said dryly, voice pitched low. ¡°If we kill enough fiends down here, we could really load up on Zenith Tides. Escape all our financial woes.¡±

    To his immense relief Sam actually snorted in amusement. ¡°You¡¯re delusional.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s the caliber of scales we¡¯re talking about.¡± He reached the archway. The white stones were rough, aged, as if they¡¯d stood here for a millennia. Carefully, listening intently, he peered past it to what could have once been a narrow lane. The ruins of houses faced it on either side, and the flagstone remnants were more pronounced, rising to a subtle hump in the center.

    Together they glanced back and forth, searching signs of movement.

    Nothing.

    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± whispered Harald, and darted to the closest building facade where he lowered into a crouch. A cloud of butterflies danced up ahead, fluttering around and around like animated daubs of black soot. Sam joined him, her armor only faintly jingling, and Harald led the way down the street, warily watching the butterflies, half expecting them to suddenly swarm in their direction and eat the meat right off their bones.

    They passed several empty homes, their interiors open to the sky and overrun with saplings, weeds, and ivy.

    Everything was made from the same white stone, and only now, having seen enough ruined buildings, did Harald start getting a sense of the architecture. It felt, if anything, like the drawings he¡¯d seen of elven buildings, delicate and flowing.

    ¡°Up ahead,¡± whispered Sam, touching his arm gently and pointing.

    The street opened into another square. Framed by the last two buildings was a statue in its center, a massive, hollowed out wreck of what might once have been a masterpiece. Made of white marble, it stood with an arm upraised, palm to the sky, as if catching rain drops or offering something to the sun.

    Chunks were missing from its body, revealing its hollow center. Yet enough remained to betray its carved musculature, and its carving was so expert that even while immobile it seemed alive, ready to inhale, to move, to break into dance.

    ¡°Just a statue?¡± asked Harald.

    ¡°Let¡¯s approach cautiously,¡± said Sam. ¡°It looks too¡­ special. I¡¯d wager its a fiend.¡±

    It must have heard their whispers, even from this distance, for suddenly its head swiveled so it stared in their direction even as a sword of living golden flame appeared in the grip of its upraised hand.

    ¡°Oh shit,¡± hissed Harald, bolting to his feet.

    The statue began striding toward them, faster and faster, blade held out and behind it.

    ¡°What do we do?¡± cried Sam, falling into the Plow.

    ¡°We fight it,¡± said Harald, staring wide eyed at the approaching fiend. It had to be three yards tall, and was already almost upon them. ¡°We fight!¡±

 Chapter 29

    ¡°Go out wide!¡± barked Harald, trying to find stable footing amongst the flagstones. ¡°Sam, other side of the street!¡±

    The statue was barreling down on them, fast, too fast. Sam darted across the narrow street, blade held down and low, and then the statue was upon them.

    Any hope of fighting the fiend was immediately ended by its first blow. The burning blade came sweeping around with a roar and passed clear through Harald¡¯s desperate parry. Then the golden flames swept through him, and the world ended.

    Pain.

    He couldn¡¯t even scream.

    He was on the floor, arching his back, dying, but somehow the pain couldn¡¯t overcome his life force. His torso was a chasm of living magma, the blade having passed clear through him, done terrible things to his flesh, and then distantly he heard Sam scream, and then all was silence.

    But whatever elixir Vorakhar had granted them refused to let him go. Slowly his body knit itself together, a process that felt as if it took eons, and finally the tide of agony receded and Harald came back to himself.

    With a gasp he passed his hand over his sweat-soaked brow and blinked, the world coming into focus.

    He lay amidst the high grass, twisted on his side, blade gleaming by his side, a foot-wide span of its length darkened and without luster.

    His leather cuirass was ruined.

    Harald was about to move when he saw movement. Slowly, barely daring to breathe, he glanced up the street toward the square.

    The large statue was slowly walking away, moving ponderously as if it had exhausted all of its liquid grace, the blade gone from its fist.

    Panic seized Harald, clamping tight around his chest. Desperate, he searched the far side of the street and saw a gleam of metal where Sam was stirring.

    They should just lie still.

    Let the statue move away.

    But that¡¯s not why he¡¯d come down here, was it?

    ¡°Hey.¡± His voice was little more than a croak. With a grunt he sat up.

    The statue froze, then, as if in disbelief, turned to gaze over its own partially ruined shoulder, its blank eyes narrowing.

    ¡°I¡¯m not done with you,¡± rasped Harald, and taking up his blade he rose to his feet. He actually felt pretty good for having been nearly killed. That effervescent energy was bubbling through his veins, enlivening him, making him feel reckless, invincible.

    Sam was glaring at him incredulously through the high grass. Get down, she mouthed.

    Harald had seen Nessa demonstrate the Wrath Guard only once. It involved placing the sword almost flush down the length of his back, elbows up, body twisted as if about to take the world¡¯s greatest swing.

    She¡¯d told him it was a complex guard, to be used sparingly and only in the precisely right occasions.

    Too bad.

    Given that there was no way to defend himself, the Wrath Guard felt just about right.

    The statue turned, extended its arm, fingers flared, and burning glory appeared in its fist. A scimitar of burning gold.

    ¡°I can¡¯t fuck you up yet,¡± said Harald, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. ¡°But one day. And this I vow. One day I will come back down here to the 47th Level, and I will find you, and I will fuck your shit up.¡±

    If the statue was impressed by his tough talk it made no sign. The air moaned as if distorting as it swept the burning sword behind it once more, not even a Tail Guard, just an out-of-the-way stance, and then, leaning forward, it charged him once more.

    ¡°Harald!¡± Sam cried and leaped to her feet, blade in hand. She ran up the street, looking to flank it, but at the last second the statue changed course. It veered abruptly into her, hunched over like a battering ram, and not even bothering with its sword simply plowed into her body, ignoring her strike that bounced off its stone shoulder, and drove her into a wall, powering clear through it and shattering her body between it and the white rock.

    ¡°Sam!¡± Harald sprinted forward, forgetting his stance, his Wrath Guard, horror seizing him by the throat.

    She had to be dead. Crushed to paste and jelly.

    The statue extricated itself from the collapsing wall, huge blocks tumbling off its shoulders, and swept its blade across the air.

    Casually. Without even looking.

    Harald screamed as the golden flame washed over him again.

    The last thing he saw was his blade swinging wildly at the statue, but he couldn¡¯t tell if it hit.

    Then pain.

    Real pain.

    Thought-erasing agony.

    As if he¡¯d been dipped head first into a vat of molten iron.

    It lasted for an eternity, and then it was over.

    Gasping, Harald blinked up at the flat blue sky. He was on his back again. The blow had taken him across the face.

    The pain was gone, but its memory lingered like the afterimage of a lightning strike against the night sky.

    He should stay down.

    It was madness to court that kind of pain.

    Harald clenched his jaw, squeezed his eyes shut, and thrust that memory from him.

    Then, with the greatest flexion of his will yet, yet opened his eyes and sat up.

    The statue was almost back to its square. Slowly, dolorously striding, one great step after another, as if the weight of the world rested on its shoulders.

    This time Harald rose to his feet before speaking. ¡°Hey.¡± His voice sounded weird to him. ¡°Hey you.¡± He cast around, saw his expensive longsword. A nock had been struck into its upper blade.

    So he¡¯d hit it after all.

    He bent, closed his fist around the tightly wound hilt. Even as he did so the elixir¡¯s madness bubbled up within him again.

    He was invincible.

    Immortal.

    The statue had frozen, and this time Harald was sure it hung its head before wheeling slowly around.

    Harald slashed a couple of cuts in the air, the Dungeon Square, upper left, lower right. Came up in the Ox Guard, hilt by his head, point aimed at the fiend. ¡°Hey. Come over here and kill me again.¡±

    Sam was slowly sitting up amongst the rubble of the ruined wall. Her gorgeous armor was partially melted, the chainmail ragged, her eyes wide with horror.

    ¡°Sit this one out,¡± Harald said, tone almost conversational as the statue resummoned its golden blade. ¡°I¡¯ve got it.¡±

    ¡°Harald,¡± she whispered. She passed her gloved hand over her lips, looked at the leather, then levered herself out from under a block that lay across her hip, and stood.

    He smiled as she moved to join him. ¡°Well, if you insist.¡±

    This time the statue didn¡¯t charge. It approached them slowly, warily, as if it couldn¡¯t understand something.

    Harald moved to a slightly flatter stretch of ground, his blade unwavering. Where could he strike it? The whole thing was of stone. He couldn¡¯t parry. An eye? Was he assuming it even had a weak spot? Why would a stone eye be more vulnerable that its stone shoulder? Was its human shape purely symbolic? It was moving with entire chunks missing. An animating magic.

    Still he had to have a target. Something to strike. Something to wound -

    The statue dismissed its blade just as it reached Harald.

    Who lunged, sword flowing out to stab at the carved visage.

    It turned its head with dismaying ease.

    The blade slid past its cheek.

    It reached up and closed its fist around Harald¡¯s elbow.

    Squeezed.

    Bone fractured as his flesh pulped.

    Harald screamed, but was silenced when it backhanded him into oblivion.

    For awhile he drowned in an ocean of agony, but this time, when he came back to himself, a message hovered before him, an offering from the Fallen Angel:

    If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    Your resilience has shone a light in the darkness.

    Your bravery has been noticed.

    By the authority of the Fallen Angel, you are hereby bestowed a new class:

    Voidheart Vanguard

    Do you choose to accept?

    Harald licked his dry lips. Voidheart Vanguard. That sounded a sight better than a Steelheart Rearguard. He focused on the title and triggered the description.

    Voidheart Vanguard: Frontline warriors who bridge the gap between the known and the unknowable, Voidheart Vanguards lead the charge into the heart of darkness, their resolve unshaken by the terrors that dwell within. Their mastery of combat is matched only by a courage born from the heart of the void.

    ¡°Damn,¡± he whispered. Now that was a class. What would its Actives and Passives even look like?

    Carefully, he glanced up the street. The statue had returned to its plaza and extended its palm once more to the sky.

    Sam sat limply against a wall. Her wounds were healed, however; she blinked, frowned, then carefully looked up through a curtain of her golden hair, most of it having escaped her braid.

    This time Harald gestured back to the square in which they¡¯d first appeared. She nodded, and together they crawled back till the statue was hidden from view.

    ¡°You all right?¡± she whispered, then scowled. ¡°Stupid question.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m good,¡± said Harald, ¡°but more importantly, I got a class offer.¡±

    Sam smiled then, a small, wicked smile of quiet pride. ¡°I did too.¡±

    ¡°You did?¡± Harald grinned. ¡°What is it?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve never heard of it before. Chasm Sentinel?¡±

    Harald shook his head, mystified.

    ¡°Here¡¯s the description.¡± She stared into the middle distance as she read to him. ¡°Guardians whose vigilance extends into the deepest rifts of reality, Chasm Sentinels stand watch over the precipices that separate worlds. Their defensive prowess ensures that no malevolent force can surge forth from the chasms they guard.¡±

    ¡°Whoa,¡± whispered Harald. ¡°Precipices that separate worlds?¡±

    Sam¡¯s blue eyes were wide. ¡°I know. What does that¡­? But¡­ what about you?¡±

    ¡°Voidheart Vanguard.¡± He read her the description as well. ¡°Which sounds amazing, but¡­¡±

    Sam chuckled quietly. ¡°We¡¯re getting greedy.¡±

    ¡°I like the idea of being a frontline warrior, of charging into the heart of darkness. But since we¡¯re down here¡­¡±

    ¡°Say it.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know. It feels too direct? It¡¯s not that I don¡¯t want to be in the vanguard of wherever we fight, but I want¡­ I want more options. Not to just always be leading the charge. More versatility?¡±

    ¡°I understand. I¡¯m not sure about mine, either. It¡¯s purely defensive. Static. A guardian who watches. I want¡­¡± She bit her lower lip and looked down at her ruined gloves. ¡°I want something more¡­ I don¡¯t know how to put this. But what Vorakhar said¡­ how he described me¡­ I don¡¯t want him to be right. About me.¡±

    Harald put his hand over hers. ¡°I understand. We¡¯ve just gotten started. Let¡¯s see what else the Fallen Angel offers us.¡±

    ¡°But Harald.¡± When she looked up, her eyes were gleaming. ¡°This is¡­ I used to dream of being a Bladeweaver like Nessa, or even just a Warcleaver. But this? What we¡¯re being offered here? It¡¯s almost too much. I¡¯ve never even heard of these classes.¡±

    ¡°Me neither,¡± said Harald softly, his excitement causing his skin to prickle. ¡°That¡¯s why we should make the most of it.¡±

    ¡°But I can¡¯t forget who¡¯s making this all possible. He said he has no angle, but I don¡¯t believe him.¡± She stared at him beseechingly. ¡°I don¡¯t want to serve a demon, Harald. I came to make sure you didn¡¯t face this alone, but this¡­ this is beyond anything I could have imagined.¡±

    Harald nodded grimly. ¡°I hear you. But I don¡¯t know what to say. We either make the most of this, or we die down here. You heard him. He¡¯s not coming back, and we won¡¯t last a second once the elixir wears off.¡±

    She studied his face, her dark brows drawn close, and then she nodded reluctantly. ¡°What¡¯s done is done.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s done is done.¡± He stood and considered his blade. It was heat scorched, but otherwise still serviceable. ¡°Shall we hunt down some more fiends? I¡¯ve a mind to give that statue a break. It looked like he was becoming upset.¡±

    She snorted. ¡°Fine. Other direction, then?¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±

    ¡°One second.¡± She considered her ruined sleeve of chain, then tore it off. Her chest plate was warped, the metal having melted and run, but after tugging on it once or twice she decided to leave it on. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±

    Harald led the way. Crouched low, wary, they slipped over a waist-high wall and moved through the tall grass, taking their time, watching, cautious.

    A well rose in the center of a small orchard of willows. Harald gazed around, then led Sam over to peer inside. Iron rungs were attached to the inside, leading down into the darkness.

    ¡°A way down?¡± asked Harald. ¡°To more of the 47th, or the 48th?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± said Sam. ¡°I¡¯ve not done a lot of exploring around here.¡±

    Careful, darlings, came a new, feminine voice, its tone arch and playful. You wouldn¡¯t want to bite off more than you can chew.

    A winged demon had appeared beside one of the willows, her full figure a striking fusion of majesty and allure. Her skin was of the palest lavender, her long hair white contrasting sharply with the ridged ebon horns that curved outward from her temples and then speared straight up.

    The seductive cut of her bodice was off-set by the high-gothic armor aesthetic of her silver pauldrons and vambraces, each forged with flourishes that made them works of art. A black velvet cape cascaded from her shoulders, its trailing edge tattered where it dragged along the ground. Her long legs were bare, the curvature of her hips framing a narrow tabard that hung from her silver belt near to the ground.

    The cumulative effect one of dark allure and formidable presence, part armor, part fever-fantasy, designed to command attention and inspire desire and awe in equal measure.

    Harald blinked and raised his gaze to meet the demon¡¯s burning white eyes. She was watching him with amusement, clearly aware of the effect her appearance was having on him. ¡°Are you¡­ are you a friend of Vorakhar¡¯s?¡±

    She laughed, the sound ethereal, delighted. Of sorts. At times we have been closer, but of late he¡¯s been neglecting me. It wounds my poor heart. So I¡¯ve come to inspect the source of his most recent fascination. I am Eclavistra. And you are?

    Harald bit his lower lip, hesitant. Would it confer power over him to reveal his name? Would Vorakhar get upset?

    ¡°Sam Tuppins,¡± said Sam, her tone hard. ¡°What do you want, demon?¡±

    Eclavistra approached, her baronial cloak dragging behind her, each step accentuated by a deliberate sway, her pale hips rolling softly, creating an undulating motion that was hypnotic.

    By the angels, thought Harald. Get it together, man.

    Why, he¡¯s Endowed you with a Demon Seed. Eclavistra¡¯s black-ringed eyes widened in surprise. And you burn with an Elixir of Rashanna. Yet you radiate precious little power. Why has Vorakhar taken such an interest in you?

    ¡°You could ask him,¡± said Harald, fighting to keep his voice level.

    Again she laughed, and now she moved to circle them both, still unhurried. And betray my interest? Surely you know my kind loves subtlety. But here we are. An opportunity for us both. Unless you declare yourselves eternally loyal to Vorakhar and his ambitions?

    ¡°We don¡¯t know what he wants,¡± said Sam, turning to keep the demon in view. ¡°He¡¯s not been forthcoming.¡±

    ¡°But we¡¯d be fools to take you at your word,¡± said Harald, doing the same. ¡°No offense. Given your kind¡¯s penchant for subtlety.¡±

    Of course. Her perfume was subtle but growing more notable, a crisp, aromatic lavender undercut by a sharp, peppery edge. You have no reason to trust me. But Vorakhar isn¡¯t the only one capable of dispensing favors. Perhaps I can tempt you. What do you desire? I would imagine you have¡­ She looked Harald up and down. Questions.

    ¡°Sure. What does Vorakhar want with me? He says I have potential, but for what? Why is he favoring me?¡±

    ¡°We can¡¯t trust her answers,¡± said Sam. ¡°Maybe we shouldn¡¯t even speak with her.¡±

    Conversation is harmless, darling. As for the why: you humans, and to a lesser degree the other conscious species, are capable of enviable growth. Her tone was playful, and having completed her circuit, she came to a stop before them. You may be weak as reeds now, but one day you might swell into mighty oaks. Whereas demons of all ranks are incapable of natural growth; we are as we were created, and if we wish to upset each other¡¯s plans, we are best served by recruiting heroes who may one day force our rivals to bend knee.

    She smiled, revealing milk-white fangs. Hence our ageless reputation as shameless seducers. We strive to enlist the aid of those with the greatest potential. And while Ms. Tuppins here shows remarkable promise, you, mysterious stranger, are on another plane entirely.

    ¡°So he seeks to recruit us into his war,¡± said Harald. ¡°Not surprising, I suppose.¡±

    ¡°I think he¡¯s going to be disappointed,¡± said Sam. ¡°As are you.¡±

    There was movement at the far side of the grove. A statue was entering the ring of trees, its form more abstract than the first, the edges that lined the missing chunks rimmed in gold. It extended its hand and a burning scimitar of gold fire appeared, causing the air to moan as if warped.

    ¡°We might have to continue this conversation later,¡± said Harald, his gut clenching at the memory of the horrific pain. ¡°If you -¡±

    Eclavistra glanced sidelong at the statue, then summoned a mace nearly as long as her leg into her palm. The massive weapon seemed forged from silver, its haft spiraled, its head a great rectangle inlaid with complex patterns, two faces sprouting vicious triangular spikes each over eight inches long.

    The demon extended the monstrous weapon and the statue burst apart in a conflagration of pale purple flame. Chunks of cindered stone flew through the willow branches and rolled through the grass.

    Eclavistra¡¯s mace vanished, and she smiled sweetly at them both. As I was saying, you are being groomed by Vorakhar to aid in his war. Understandably, I am loath to bequeath him such a handsome ally without vying in some manner for your loyalty. But how to overcome your understandable mistrust?

    Harald tried to take her raw display of power in stride. The casual manner in which she¡¯d destroyed the statue had driven home the enormity of the power disparity between them. Eclavistra might be courting him, but by the angels, it clearly didn¡¯t make them equals. And the attack had intensified her perfume; he could now smell a heart of smoky incense beneath the lavender, a hint of leather, of dark vanilla.

    It made it hard to think clearly.

    Sam was far less conflicted. ¡°One demon is enough for us, thank you. We¡¯d be fools to be pulled into your game.¡±

    Unless you clearly stand to benefit from my intervention. But I understand. I will ask nothing of you now, but instead make a gift: a bracelet that, if worn before you enter the dungeon, shall shield you from Vorakhar¡¯s awareness and indicate to me that you wish to talk. Also, I am willing to slay you in such a manner that shall trigger the Fallen Angel to offer you the best possible class. That is why you are down here, is it not?

    ¡°You can do that?¡± Harald immediately regretted the question. ¡°How can you manipulate her?¡±

    The Elixir of Rashanna is sufficiently potent to help even weak creatures such as yourself survive the attacks of the 47th Level. Any deeper, and it would be unable to shield you. But I can modulate my attack so that it doesn¡¯t overwhelm the elixir while still registering as your fighting a far superior foe. Eclavistra paused as if considering, and her smile grew wry. A far, far superior foe.

    ¡°Then why didn¡¯t Vorakhar attack us himself?¡± demanded Sam.

    It¡¯s hard to nurture the affections of those you¡¯ve attempted to kill. Eclavistra narrowed her burning white eyes. The human subconscious takes it personally. But I have few other cards left to play in this round, so I shall take the risk.

    Harald licked his dry lips. ¡°And Vorakhar won¡¯t get upset?¡±

    Only if he finds out. But my brothers and sisters and I are adept at hiding from each other. Since this development will be to his benefit, he¡¯ll take your fortune as a blessing. Her smile grew predatory. Unless you tell him, of course, but why would you limit your options needlessly?

    ¡°Right.¡± This wasn¡¯t the time to debate her. ¡°All right. If you can help us acquire the best possible class, sure. I¡¯ll try not to take it personally.¡±

    The best possible class as determined by the Fallen Angel, clarified Eclavistra. But you never told me your name.

    The scent of lavender and spice swirled around him, and the orchard seemed to fall away as Eclavistra¡¯s presence swelled before him.

    ¡°Harald,¡± he heard himself say. ¡°Harald Darrowdelve.¡±

    Oh. Her eyes widened, and then her smiled turned pleased. That is a fascinating development. Oh yes, I understand so much more now. She summoned her monstrous mace once more, and lifted it effortlessly so that its spiked head was pointed at them both. Her tattered wings spread out, and she raised her chin, eyes narrowed. Are you prepared to die?

    ¡°Harald?¡± Sam¡¯s nervousness was tangible. ¡°You sure?¡±

    He wasn¡¯t. But the more he learned, the greater the stakes appeared to be. The more monumental the odds stacked against them. Eclavistra could have slain them easily by now if she¡¯d desired. Unless she required his permission to enact some kind of power that would shield her intervention from Vorakhar¡­?

    ¡°Ready for you to bring us to the brink of death, yes.¡±

    The demon considered, then inclined her head in appreciation. A fine distinction. But very well. It was a pleasure making your acquaintance, Harald Darrowdelve. I look forward to our next conversation.

    The attack was as sudden as it was absolute.

    The world flared the palest purple, and then there was nothing.

 Chapter 30

    Harald blinked.

    All was still.

    So, he¡¯d survived Eclavistra¡¯s attack. She¡¯d been honest about that much, at any rate.

    Groaning, he put his hand to his head and sat up. The demon was gone, and the air was clear and crisp and smelt of nothing more than the orchard.

    Sam lay outflung beside him, unconscious in her ruined armor.

    She was alive though. That¡¯s what mattered.

    Harald thought of how she¡¯d stood up to the demon. How Sam had challenged her, denied her, and felt an upsurge of pride. Whereas he¡¯d been mesmerized, his thoughts dulled, his very being resonating to Eclavistra¡¯s physical presence.

    He hoped it was due to some demonic aura.

    Blinking, about to climb to his feet, he froze when a message appeared in before him:

    You have become a focal point of the celestial war.

    Your potential has been noticed.

    By the authority of the Fallen Angel, you are hereby bestowed a new class:

    Abyssal Initiate 1

    Do you choose to accept?

    And then beneath that, a new message appeared, as if distinct and private in nature:

    The Demon Seed Has Stirred

    There it is, thought Harald, inhaled raggedly as he absorbed the implications of the Fallen Angel¡¯s message. Whereas before his resilience, bravery, and prowess had been noticed, now it was his very potential that had summoned the Fallen Angel¡¯s attention.

    And a focal point of the celestial war? That sounded grand, but it couldn¡¯t be good. Not if it meant creatures of such power as Eclavistra and Vorakhar were going to contest for his loyalty.

    Somehow elated yet sobered both, he summoned the description of his new class.

    Abyssal Initiate: The path of the Abyssal Initiate is one of stark introspection and mastery over the abyss within and without. These rare individuals have peered into the chasms of existence and embraced the bleak truths to be found in their depths. This transformative path elevates them beyond mere mortal constraints. Initiates are marked by an uncanny aptitude for walking the darkest of paths, their souls resonating with the resolve of the cosmos.

    Harald read the description thrice before acknowledging that he simply didn¡¯t understand what it meant. My soul resonates with the resolve of the cosmos? Then, on impulse, he summoned his window and examined his Soul Nature again:

    Insatiable Void: You are the aching heart of ambition, the howling hunger that yearns to consume the world. A child of darkness, you will always seek the light, but will destroy all that you pursue.

    ¡°That¡¯s some synergy right there,¡± he whispered, shaken and unsure of himself. Already he¡¯d changed so much¡ªwhat would it mean if he doubled down on this path?

    Sam was still unconscious. Eager for a distraction, Harald crawled over and pressed his fingers to the side of her neck. Her pulse was steady and strong.

    Eclavistra was gone, but so was her protection. Wary, he rose to his knees and scanned the periphery of the orchard. Nothing but the crater where the statue had been blasted apart¡ªand hovering over the ruins, a scale.

    Harald¡¯s eyes widened. It¡¯s deep blue hue betrayed its value even from here: a Zenith Tide, easily worth 10,000 Copper Moons alone.

    Did Eclavistra not care for wealth, or was such wealth so far beneath her that she¡¯d disdained it?

    Or had she left it behind as a parting gift, aware of what it might mean for Harald?

    Sam groaned and winced, turning her head from side to side as if seeking to deny some awful truth.

    ¡°It¡¯s all right,¡± he whispered, taking her hand. ¡°Sam, I¡¯m here. It¡¯s all right.¡±

    ¡°Harald?¡± She blinked several times then focused on him. ¡°Oh. I had the worst dream¡­¡±

    He couldn¡¯t help but smile. ¡°Worse than this place? Must have been pretty terrible.¡±

    ¡°This¡­?¡± She sat up, the leather of her ruined armor creaking, then stared around them in horror. ¡°Then it wasn¡¯t¡­? Oh!¡±

    ¡°Message from the Fallen Angel?¡± he asked softly.

    ¡°Yes. Class award. It¡¯s¡­ Netherwarden Knight?¡±

    ¡°Never heard of it. What¡¯s the description?¡±

    Sam frowned. ¡°Sworn defenders against entities that emerge from beyond, Netherwarden Knights wield the power of light and darkness in equal measure. Their solemn oath to protect reality from the encroaching nether forces grants them abilities that are both awe-inspiring and fearsome.¡± Her eyes widened. ¡°Harald! That¡¯s¡­!¡±

    He couldn¡¯t help but grin. ¡°Sounds like your distrust of the demons has paid off.¡±

    ¡°You think?¡± She frowned, gaze still darting from side to side as she reread the message in the middle distance. ¡°Oh wow. To defend reality from the encroaching¡­ Harald!¡± Her joy was radiant as she grabbed hold of his arm and squeezed tightly. ¡°It¡¯s¡­ this is perfect!¡±

    He frowned. ¡°Are you sure? It¡¯ll mean giving up Majordomo. That¡¯s a huge loss.¡±

    She shoved him away playfully, biting her lower lip, then caught herself. ¡°Oh. Did you¡­?¡±

    ¡°Nothing so noble. Abyssal Initiate. Listen.¡± And he read her the description.

    ¡°Elevating beyond mortal constraints? Sounds a lot like your Soul Nature,¡± said Sam. ¡°Oh wait, let me check mine.¡± She focused, and then her brows rose higher. ¡°It¡¯s gone from Bright Star to Brightest Star. It now says: You are the beacon that cleaves through night¡¯s veil, the unwavering luminescence that guides the lost and forlorn. Your strength is a promise to the world: a light that not only reveals, but elevates.¡±

    Sam¡¯s face grew pale as she glanced back to Harald, clearly awestruck.

    ¡°What was it before?¡± asked Harald.

    She clearly knew it by heart, as everyone did: ¡°You are steadfast among shadows, a symbol of hope and guidance. A gentle yet resolute force that seeks to uplift rather than outshine.¡±

    Then her hand flew to her mouth. ¡°Harald. My Soul Rank. It¡¯s¡­¡±

    ¡°Divine?¡±

    She nodded, horrified.

    ¡°It¡¯s what happened to me after Vorakhar¡¯s intervention.¡± He squeezed her shoulder tightly. ¡°And it¡¯s earned.¡±

    ¡°But¡­ Divine?¡± Tears stood out in her eyes. ¡°I don¡¯t, I mean, I can¡¯t¡­¡±

    ¡°Brightest Star. How could it be anything else?¡± Harald felt a burning warmth suffuse him, a mixture of pride and joy. ¡°You¡¯ve earned this, Sam. You chose to follow me down here into the depths. You stood up to Vorakhar and Eclavistra both. While I was entering a daze around her, I remember you staying sharp and true. And now with a Divine rank, there¡¯s no telling how far you¡¯ll go.¡±

    ¡°By the angels,¡± whispered Sam, overwhelmed. ¡°I don¡¯t feel worthy.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re going to have to get used to it.¡±

    ¡°And my Soul Ability.¡± Her voice had grown faint. ¡°It¡¯s now Celestial Guidance. And¡­¡± She dry swallowed, then read: ¡°Your light transcends mere physical radiance, becoming a beacon for souls adrift in both darkness and doubt. Your journey illuminates paths not just through the world, but through the hearts of all you encounter.¡±

    ¡°Hmm,¡± said Harald, pretending to consider. ¡°Sounds right to me. But we should hurry up and accept out classes so as to get out of here. I¡¯d hate to have another statue wander by while we sit here chatting.¡±

    ¡°Right.¡± Sam inhaled sharply. ¡°You¡¯re accepting yours?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think I have a choice.¡± He considered the message again. Abyssal Initiate. Some classes could evolve if you progressed far enough, if your level reached sufficient heights. The ¡®initiate¡¯ thus seemed to be an implicit promise.

    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    He considered telling Sam that his Demon Seed had stirred, but decided to leave that for later.

    ¡°All right. We¡¯re out of time. I think I¡¯m going to accept. That¡¯ll trigger our portal out of here, so we should do it together.¡±

    Sam wiped her cheeks with the edge of her hand and nodded briskly. ¡°Yes. Ready?¡±

    ¡°Let me grab one thing.¡± Harald leaped up, jogged over to the destroyed statue, and snagged the Zenith Tide. It was beautiful, its curvature gradating from black and slate blue at the base to a rich, royal blue at the upper reach. A quick glance around revealed them to still be safe, so he hurried back.

    ¡°A Zenith Tide?¡± Sam¡¯s brows shot up. ¡°She left it behind?¡±

    ¡°Guess it shows she cares.¡±

    ¡°Or doesn¡¯t care. Still.¡± Her eagerness was apparent. ¡°Ready?¡±

    ¡°Count of three?¡±

    She nodded.

    ¡°Three. Two. One. Go.¡±

    And Harald accepted Abyssal Initiate.

    Class Acceptance Confirmed: Abyssal Initiate

    The abyss whispers your name, and you whisper back. With this sacred bond, your journey into the depths begins.

    Active Ability Granted: Abyssal Attunement

    Harness the abyss''s caress; let emptiness become your spear. Your strikes drain the essence of your foes.

    Passive Ability Unlocked: Aura of the Aching Depths

    Silence surrounds you, a cloak that saps the will of adversaries, making them falter where they stand.

    Stat Boosts Applied:

    +5 Ego: For the will to resist the abyss¡¯s embrace.

    +3 Constitution: To endure the pressure of the depths.

    +2 Strength: The abyss tempers your might.

    Your path is one of contradictions, a journey to master the abyss that seeks to master you. Rise, Abyssal Initiate, and claim your destiny in the depths.

    But before he could process this information, his entire being underwent a profound change. At first it felt as if a icy feather brushed against the edge of his consciousness, like a shadow passing over the sun, causing his skin to prickle and his blood to run cold.

    The abyss.

    Never before would he have been able to intuit its call, understand its vastness, interface with its alien nature.

    But now a profound silence enveloped him, a quiet so deep it hummed with the latent power of creation and destruction, both held in precarious and tenuous balance.

    Harald drew a breath, feeling as if he were suffocating, and the sensation changed. Now he stood upon the edge of a precipice, peering down into an unfathomable chasm whose dark depths beckoned to him, defied his comprehension. The power of that abyss coursed through him like deep, cold water suffusing his being, making him feel at once vast and eternal yet paradoxically empty and rich with nothingness.

    This pull, this siren-call of annihilation threatened to untether his mind, his very soul. Disoriented, panicking, he fought the urge to lash out, to struggle, and then anchored ever more firmly in his sense of self, in his will and essence. A sense of strength boosted him, not just infusing his muscles with iron, but girding his mind with a resilience to withstand the abyss¡¯s siren call. His thoughts felt sharper, his resolve hardened. Even his efforts these past few weeks felt haphazard, prone to upswings and crashes based on mood and external events.

    No longer.

    The abyss was within him, without, and he rode its existential terror with surety, aware now of its terrible darkness but comfortable with his place in it.

    And with that acceptance, the overwhelming vision faded away, leaving him once more kneeling in the tall grass of the orchard, himself once more but irrevocably changed.

    ¡°By the angels,¡± he whispered, blinking and gazing about. Everything felt more vivid, brighter, richer, as if by being contrasted with the emptiness of the abyss the inherent reality of the world was more pronounced and beautiful.

    And his body.

    It had absorbed the power of the abyss, the potency of it, and warped, changed, capitalized on the growth he¡¯d been chasing these past few weeks.

    He felt stronger. New muscle corded his arms, was layered across his back and chest, bulked out his thighs. Harald passed his hand over his chest, down his stomach. The fat hadn¡¯t exactly melted away, but now he felt larger, made solid by deep, powerful strength.

    And more: a new vitality smoldered within him, energy asking to be spent, reserves to be tapped. He felt as if he could run for miles without resting, could sprint now without immediately breaking a sweat.

    He felt reforged.

    Repurposed.

    A purple portal appeared to their side, oval and coruscating with black shadows.

    Then, like feeling the first warm rays of dawn unexpectedly at dawn after a long and intractable night, Harald felt a shift in the air, a lightening of his spirit, his breath steadying, his heart buoyed by gentle hope.

    Sam, who had lowered her head as she wrapped her arms around her knees, exhaled deeply as she raised her face, eyes closed. Harald studied her, touched by an aura that had manifested about her form. Then her blue eyes opened, and within their depths he saw a new resolve, a bright focus, and kindness and radiance that made it appear as if the sun were shining through the heart of an azure glacier.

    Her face had a new maturity to it, her golden complexion gently sun-kissed. She held his gaze with a new surety, and when she smiled, it made Harald inhale reflexively in amazement.

    ¡°Wow,¡± she whispered, then reached out for his hand, interlacing her fingers with his own and squeezing. ¡°Harald. This is like nothing I could have dreamed.¡±

    He laughed quietly. ¡°And you want to know the best part? It just feels like you¡¯ve become more yourself. This is always who you¡¯ve been. Now you¡¯re just able to show it.¡±

    Her smile was warm, skeptical, but accepting. ¡°How are you? You look¡­ different.¡±

    ¡°The abyss is with me now,¡± he said, and realized that was meant as a joke was actually true. He could sense it, its depths invisibly somehow within everything, not part of the world, but lying between the smallest gaps, an omnipresent sense of yawning dissolution. He still couldn¡¯t quite wrap his mind around it, but it made Sam¡¯s presence all the more welcome. ¡°I haven¡¯t had a chance to look at my new Abilities, though. Shall we do that when we¡¯re out of here?¡±

    ¡°Sure. I guess I meant your physique?¡± She scrutinized him. ¡°Your arms, for example. There¡¯s more muscle on you. Strength gain?¡±

    Harald nodded, trying not to smile.

    ¡°Very nice. I mean, yeah. Not bad.¡± Sam was clearly attempting not to look impressed. ¡°But like you said, we don¡¯t know how long the portal will last. Even with this new class of mine I¡¯d hate to have to fight our way up to the 46th Level.¡±

    Harald rose smoothly to his feet. Casting around, saw his badly scorched and warped longsword, and pulled it from the grass. Sam collected her own weapon, and they took one last look around the 47th Level.

    ¡°It¡¯ll be awhile before we come back through here,¡± said Harald. ¡°But I¡¯ve a feeling that we¡¯ll be returning.¡±

    ¡°One day,¡± said Sam, and held her hand out to him.

    He took it, and together they stepped through the portal.

    The sensation this time of transporting through space was completely different from last time; where before Harald had felt a terrible sense of dislocation and nausea, he now felt a moment of complete equanimity. No desire to scream, no urge to vomit.

    Just a oneness with the absolute darkness, the wrenching nothingness through which they passed.

    Then they were through and back in the warren on the 4th Level. There was no mistaking it, though it was clear Vic and Nessa were gone.

    ¡°How long were we down there?¡± asked Sam, turning in a slow circle.

    ¡°Hard to say. Awhile? However long it took the elixir to bring us back multiple times.¡±

    ¡°I guess Vic and Nessa moved on.¡± Sam trod warily to the archway and peered out into the main hallway. ¡°Not that I blame them.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re going to have a lot of explaining to do.¡± Harald¡¯s heart sank at the prospect. Nobody had gotten hurt due to his not mentioning Vorakhar, but forgetting to bring up a relationship with a major demon could conceivably be taken poorly. ¡°And apologizing.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll cross that bridge when we get to it. This place looks relatively clear. Shall we take a moment to experiment with our new Abilities?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, absolutely. No sense in wandering out there without them. What did you get?¡±

    ¡°My Active is called Shield of Valor.¡± Sam backed away from the archway as she quickly scanned her description. ¡°I can summon a spectral shield that both absorbs incoming damage as well as reflects a portion back at the attacker. It can be used to either protect me or an ally. It says it symbolizes my burgeoning ability to turn adversity into strength.¡±

    ¡°Great,¡± said Harald. ¡°I appreciate your Ability already.¡±

    Sam gave him a deadpan look. ¡°Yours?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s called Abyssal Attunement.¡±

    ¡°Ominous.¡±

    ¡°Let me reread what it does.¡± He summoned his window and then focused on his new Active. A thrill rushed through him as he did: he finally had a class, and one so rare that he couldn¡¯t even begin to guess what it might offer. The description appeared in the air before him:

    Abyssal Attunement: Harness the void''s caress; let emptiness become your spear. Your strikes drain the essence of your foes.

    ¡°Right.¡± He reread it one last time then dismissed the message. ¡°Sounds like pure offense.¡±

    ¡°Compliments mine, then.¡±

    ¡°Sounds like the emptiness of the abyss both amplifies my attacks and makes it so I drain my enemies. Whatever that means.¡±

    ¡°The question is by how much. I guess we¡¯ll find out soon.¡±

    There was a new confidence to Sam¡¯s tone that Harald enjoyed hearing; she was making more declarative sentences, not asking him as much for his opinion. It suited her.

    ¡°My Passive is Beacon of Hope,¡± she continued. ¡°It¡¯s an inspiration aura, I think. Helps my allies stay strong.¡±

    ¡°I felt it the moment you activated your class,¡± smiled Harald. ¡°It¡¯s wonderful. I can feel it right now. Like sitting beside a fireplace, or seeing a sunrise after a really dark and cold night.¡±

    Sam grinned. ¡°That¡¯s me. Fireplace lady. What about you?¡±

    ¡°Aura of the Aching Depths.¡±

    ¡°Ominous again.¡±

    Harald summoned the description and quickly read it out loud. ¡°Silence surrounds you, a cloak that saps the will of adversaries, making them falter where they stand. So an aura effect. I think it¡¯s a bubble of silence that saps the will of my enemies?¡±

    ¡°Well I don¡¯t feel anything. I guess that means we¡¯re friends.¡±

    He closed one eye and grinned at her in amusement. ¡°Guess we¡¯ve finally got proof. So you¡¯ve got your shield, I¡¯ve got my draining strikes, you inspire me, and I sap the will of our foes. Not bad.¡±

    Sam laughed. ¡°Not bad? It¡¯s all a question of how powerful those abilities are when we use them. But seeing as we¡¯ve both only awoken our cosmos, they¡¯ll be severely limited.¡±

    ¡°About that.¡± And Harald dug out the Zenith Tide scale. ¡°This is enough to Ascend to our first Throne.¡±

    Sam pursed her lips and nodded. ¡°For one of us, at any rate.¡±

    Harald turned it over in his hand. It was mesmerizing to gaze upon. He rubbed his thumb over the subtle striations. ¡°If we take it out with us the city will tax forty percent. We¡¯ll get six Aurora Veils back. We could split those two ways?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t be an idiot.¡± Her smile turned rueful. ¡°You¡¯ve got a huge duel coming up. I don¡¯t. The choice is clear.¡±

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t feel right for me to consume it all.¡±

    ¡°It won¡¯t feel right for Yeoric to pound your head in, either. And then we¡¯ll owe more Horizon¡¯s Whispers than we know what to do with. Absorb it, Harald. I¡¯ll stand guard. Then we¡¯ll fight our way out of here and see what comes next.¡±

    He wanted to protest, but a small voice in his core rejoiced. The scale represented power. Pure, unadulterated might. He¡¯d absorbed an Aurora Veil to awaken his Cosmos, and that experience had been sheer bliss; he¡¯d walked around in a daze for days afterwards, grinning like an idiot.

    How would it feel to absorb an entire Zenith Tide all at once?

    ¡°All right,¡± he whispered. ¡°But the next one is yours.¡±

    Sam turned to face the archway, blade resting on her shoulder. ¡°Sure. We¡¯ll see.¡±

    Harald lay down on the cold flagstone. In a pinch, you could just absorb a scale through your hand, but the effect was more instantaneous and powerful if you did so through your brow or your heart.

    He rested the Zenith Tide over his chest. Interlaced his fingers over his stomach, and closed his eyes.

    He¡¯d not absorbed any scales since that Aurora Veil. Whereas most people enjoyed getting a bump of ecstasy from absorbing random Copper Moons or Silver Starbursts, he¡¯d abstained from such minor hits out of a sense of misplaced pride; he wanted his ascension to be grand, purposeful, a single majestic rise in power.

    Or so he¡¯d told himself.

    Now, here, lying on the cold stone floor, he could be honest with himself. He¡¯d avoided incremental gains from a fear that they¡¯d never amount to anything, that he¡¯d never be good enough, or worthy of Ascending to his first Throne.

    But those days were long gone.

    The time had come.

    Without an Ascended Throne, his new class abilities would be toothless.

    Harald took a deep, settling breath. His stomach felt acidic, his body restless, but he schooled himself to stillness and focused on his deeply buried Cosmos, that elusive core of his power.

    Where awaited the first of his many long ignored Thrones.

    ¡°Strength,¡± he heard Sam whisper.

    And with that blessing, Harald absorbed the Zenith Tide into his Cosmos.

 Chapter 31

    Divinity is received, not taken.

    So had Harald been taught by Seraphite Japhina at a young age. He¡¯d been entranced by her wrinkled visage, her humble piety, struck more by her quiet sincerity than her words.

    But now that dictum returned to him as he sank into his own spiritual depths, which opened before him like the cloths of heaven.

    Divinity is received, not taken. Within each of us burns a cosmos granted by the Fallen Angel, and this is her gift to all of us, to Flutic, to all living beings.  She Fell so that we might receive her divinity, she sacrificed herself so that we might be elevated. Within you, Harald, is a portion of the cosmos, and it is your responsibility to kindle it to fire.

    Harald dove into that darkness, that eternity that lay within his spirit. His soul was but a speck of light, and the farther he descended the greater the sense of scale became, till at last he felt himself a seed swept out by the wind over an endless ocean of night.

    And there, glimmering softly, appeared the silhouette of the Fallen Angel, a vast constellation of scales that glittered with chromatic brightness, the glorious armature of her being and all that remained of her deep in the earth. The scales were minute, a billion pinpricks of light whose brightness depended on their rarity, but the composite whole was breathtaking, outlining the form of the angel as she must once have been in life, in flight, in the cosmos.

    The beauty transfixed Harald with a sense of the sublime. Her great wings were golden with Copper Moons, while Silver Starbursts formed the plate of her abdomen; Golden Dawns encircled her waist and covered her thighs like armor, while Zenith Tides swirled around her shoulders and upper arms. Horizon¡¯s Whispers ran along the outer edge of her wings, and her sublime beauty was hinted at by the molding of Twilight Infinitums upon her visage. The remaining three scales, the rarest of all, were pinpricks of brilliant light scattered throughout, from the crown on her head to her eyelids to a pattern over her heart.

    A great ghost, a buried goddess, the font of Flutic¡¯s power and fame.

    Yet the beauty of the Fallen Angel never failed to stir pity in Harald¡¯s heart; for all that her scales represented power, for all that her death had ennobled mankind as the Seraphites claimed, her hollow form, the scaled shell, appeared little more than an aching testament to loss.

    To a being whose magnificence he could never even guess at, and upon whose corpse they all now feasted.

    Harald put that melancholy away, and focused upon the first Throne that had appeared, transparent and beyond him, when he¡¯d first Awoken his Cosmos.

    The first step in any raider¡¯s journey to power was to Awaken their Cosmos by absorbing 1,000 Copper Moons, a luxurious price beyond the capacity of most to pay. Upon Awakening your Cosmos, you acquired your Window, which revealed your Soul Nature and the rest; it made it possible for one to acquire a Class, to bind Servitors and wield Artifacts. It made it possible to Ascend your first Throne, which was the second step on one¡¯s journey to becoming a legend.

    The first Throne, the Throne of Harmony, dwelt simultaneously in both palms of the angel. This first Throne symbolized creation, balance, and the mediation of constructive and destructive forces. They glimmered as if made of glass, insubstantial and barely visible in the Angel¡¯s palms.

    But now he brought with him a wealth of newfound power. A Zenith Tide filled him with glory, and this he channeled into his personal Fallen Angel; shimmering deep blue light flowed from his spirit like the aurora borealis across the sky, filtering down into the armature, the replica of the true Fallen Angel, and there suffused its glittering constellations with power from the original.

    A billion scales took on a new refulgence and glowed with glory. The sight was indescribably beautiful, the darkness around her filled with floating motes of gold, and his Fallen Angel stirred, flaring her wings, raising her hands as if in search for the sky, and then stilled, hung her head, and was still once more.

    The power that flowed through her form coalesced in her palms, and the twin Thrones¡ªthough he¡¯d been told many times they were but the one which was simultaneously located in two places¡ªbrightened to form twin gardens of ordered beauty from which strains of celestial music arose into the void.

    These twin gardens, each large enough somehow to be a city-sized park yet still be cupped in the palms of her hands, brightened till their details were lost, and then the brightness flared once and flowed to reveal the second Throne, the Throne of Shadows, which were lost and hidden within the great scaled feathers of her wings.

    There was insufficient power to Ascend the second Throne, however; the Throne of Harmony dimmed somewhat, the excess of power bled off, and the Throne of Shadows remained translucent, Awoken but not Ascended.

    But he¡¯d done it.

    He could now draw on his Throne of Harmony for power.

    For awhile Harald simply hovered in darkness, drinking in the sight of his Fallen Angel simulacra. It was incredible to think that in each raider, each person who¡¯d consumed 1,000 Copper Moons, hung a duplicate of this miracle, this resplendent magnificence.

    But in some corner of his mind he knew that Sam awaited him on the 4th Level of the dungeon.

    So with great reluctance he willed his ascent, out of his Cosmos, away from the angelic armature, and watched with regret as it dimmed, the billions of potential scales fading, until at last only the Throne of Harmony burned bright, and then that, too, faded and was gone.

    Harald opened his eyes.

    Above him was the vaulted ceiling of the warren, draped with torn webbing and a single great rusted chain.

    ¡°There you are.¡± Sam smiled down at him. ¡°Take your time. Nothing¡¯s bothered us yet.¡±

    Harald passed his hand over his eyes as the euphoria receded, to be replaced by the drab reality of the world. Everything seemed dull and without life in comparison to that glittering miracle, but for a few precious minutes more the wonder and splendor remained within him, that sense of transcendent awe.

    And then that, too, faded away, and he was left himself.

    Taking a deep breath, Harald sat up and summoned his window to take in all the changes.

    Name: Harald Darrowdelve

    Soul Nature: Insatiable Void

    Soul Rank: Divine

    Soul Ability: Condemnation of Success

    Class: Abyssal Initiate 1

    Class Actives: Abyssal Attunement

    Class Passives: Aura of the Aching Depths

    Endowments: Demon Seed

    Strength: 11

    Dexterity: 9

    Constitution: 12

    Ego: 23

    Presence: 9

    Thrones: 1/7 (Throne of Harmony)

    Scales: 11,034/100,000

    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    Artifacts: None

    Servitors: None

    What a change in just a handful of weeks. His gaze wandered over the new terms, the new abilities, his supercharged stats.

    Sure, by most raiders¡¯ windows he wasn¡¯t notable. Yeoric still had higher Strength and Dexterity, though Harald now topped his Constitution by one point.

    But that Ego of 23.

    He shook his head, bewildered by the absurdity of it. It was a literally inhuman level, reserved for the very greatest heroes, for demonic beings, great fiends, and angelic envoys. He just couldn¡¯t square it being his.

    ¡°There it is,¡± he whispered. ¡°I¡¯ve Ascended to my first Throne.¡±

    ¡°How does it feel?¡± asked Sam, squatting beside him. Her proximity only heightened the warmth of her presence, lightened him, made him feel at once more confident and relaxed.

    He beamed at her. ¡°Your aura? Pretty great.¡±

    ¡°Not that,¡± she scowled, giving him a playful shove. ¡°Your Ascended Throne.¡±

    ¡°It feels¡­¡± He narrowed his eyes, searching within him, and there. He found it. Energy swirled in his palms, feeling like twin vortices, and from them flooded a sense of not strength nor resilience but spiritual reserves. As if he could draw on the Throne of Harmony forever, though he knew that wasn¡¯t true.

    ¡°It feels amazing,¡± he said, studying his palms. ¡°If this is one Ascended Throne, I can¡¯t imagine two, much less five.¡±

    Sam smiled lopsidedly. ¡°Let¡¯s take it a step at a time. Though it¡¯ll be pricy to brute force your next Ascension.¡±

    ¡°No kidding,¡± he said. ¡°It¡¯ll take an entire Horizon¡¯s Whisper to progress to the next Throne. And we both know I¡¯m not going to be getting one of those any time soon.¡±

    ¡°Not if Countess Sonora has anything to say about it.¡± She considered him then smirked. ¡°So? Shall we try out our new abilities? As we make our way back to the portal?¡±

    He grinned and climbed to his feet. ¡°Absolutely.¡±

    Sam straightened and considered her armor sadly. ¡°This is a mess. Still, better than nothing. You¡¯re little better. We¡¯d best take this carefully, try to find a lone ashen walker or two first.¡±

    ¡°Sure.¡± But he couldn¡¯t restrain his excitement. Within him now burned the eternal font of energy from an Ascended Throne, and he could sense the abyss all around him, waiting for him to tap its endless and yet non-existent potential.

    One ashen walker?

    He wanted a hundred.

    The feeling of warmth and inspiration faded from Sam as they approached the arch. Harald glanced at her in curiosity, then realized: she hadn¡¯t Ascended her Throne. Her Passive was going to flicker on and off by itself, possibly even beyond her control.

    No sense in mentioning it, though. That¡¯d just highlight her lack of development, and make him look like an ass.

    They stepped warily back out into the hallway, blades by their shoulders. Their scale lanterns could be clipped to their belts, though they were large enough to be ungainly. At least that allowed them to keep both hands on their swords.

    The bright blue light yet shone to the left, its frigid clarity reducing that section of hallway to blacks, glacial blues, and whites.

    They stood still, listening, but it was hard to hear much over the pounding of his pulse and his own breathing.

    ¡°Damn,¡± he laughed under his breath. ¡°All that and I¡¯m still nervous.¡±

    ¡°Good,¡± said Sam, expression solemn. ¡°We¡¯ve had about a week or so of sword training, and only came to the 4th because Nessa and Vic promised to watch over us.¡± She stared at him. ¡°Even with out new classes we¡¯re out of our depth here. You hear me, Harald? Our armor is near ruined, our blades are warped, and we barely know how to fight. Please don¡¯t do anything stupid?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m vaguely insulted,¡± said Harald, moving past her to begin passing through the bright light. ¡°But only vaguely.¡±

    The temperature dropped rapidly as the haunt began to manifest, curls and coils of mist looping into a vaguely shadowed shape, but they both hurried out the far side of the pool of light before it could form.

    ¡°All right. So. The portal was one floor below,¡± said Sam. ¡°We find the steps, head back down.¡±

    ¡°Sure,¡± said Harald, and to his surprise their entry into this level felt vague, almost hard to piece together. ¡°How often do people get lost on these raids?¡±

    ¡°To be honest?¡± Sam was peering ahead as she went, moving her head from side to side as if that would allow her to pierce the darkness better. ¡°Surprisingly often. Some of the deeper levels shift around, obviously, defying any map, and each instance is often a unique layout, making any previous maps of limited use.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re such a scholar,¡± said Harald, half-mocking, half-admiring. ¡°If only I¡¯d known you were up reading all those nights while I wasted my life trying to impress Nessa. I¡¯d have thrown away my fancy clothing and come joined you.¡±

    Sam flashed him a sad smile. ¡°Not true, but nice of you to say.¡±

    Sooner than he expected they reached the T-junction. They both paused, frowning at the broad corridor that disappeared into the darkness straight ahead. To the right lay the stairwell.

    ¡°We should go right,¡± said Sam.

    ¡°That¡¯s where the dead patrol is,¡± said Harald. ¡°Then the stairs, and they lead out right next to the portal.¡±

    ¡°Which is a good thing.¡±

    ¡°I thought we were going to test our abilities.¡±

    Sam frowned. ¡°Well, yes. But perhaps we should save them for the 1st Level. We¡¯re not ready for the 4th.¡±

    Harald watched her.

    Sam bit her lower lip, considered, then scowled at him. ¡°You¡¯re a terrible influence.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t say anything!¡±

    ¡°But you were clearly thinking it, which made me think it, which corrupted my thoughts. And now I¡¯m thinking of going ahead a little to see what we find.¡±

    ¡°How about just till the next junction? That way we can easily turn around without getting lost.¡±

    Sam grimaced then nodded. ¡°Till the next junction.¡±

    ¡°Excellent.¡± Harald paced ahead, listening intently as he went. Not that the ashen walkers made any sound, but he couldn¡¯t help but strain for any clue of what lay ahead. Neither of them spoke, and they both occasionally would glance behind to make sure nothing was creeping up on them.

    Nothing ever was.

    Chains overhead. The hallway large and bleak and fetid. It ran straight for an unnervingly long distance, the occasional empty alcove or particularly dense weaving of chains they had to gingerly brush past the only changes.

    Harald could sense Sam¡¯s imminent protest, which was why he was glad to see a large portal up ahead. A dim blue radiance came from what felt like far below, and their light only illuminated a brief stretch of landing before ending at a great expanse of darkness.

    Still outside the archway, Harald raised his eyebrow at Sam. ¡°I¡¯ll just take a peek.¡±

    ¡°Be careful.¡±

    He edged forward, staying close to the massive archway¡¯s side, and saw that his initial impression was correct; there were perhaps three yards of rough flagstoned landing beyond the arch, and then the space opened into a massive sunken hall. A handful of buckled steps hard on the right led down to a second landing, which ran along the wall briefly before more steps at a right angle led down to the first half of the hall below. It was narrow, almost a slot canyon of a hallway, with hoary stone alcoves below whose depths his light didn¡¯t pierce.

    At the hall¡¯s halfway mark there was another set of steps that cut it in two, perhaps a dozen all told, which descended to the far second half of the great room, and it was there that the azure haunt light hung affixed to the wall, washing everything with its ghostly light.

    Four ashen walkers stood at the base of the dividing steps, halfway down the narrow hallway and far below them.

    Harald gestured and Sam crept up to join him. Together they passed through the archway and crouched at the edge of the first small landing, perhaps some twenty feet above the ashen walkers and some thirty away.

    Sam frowned as she took in the various flights of stairs, craned her head to peer into the three blocky alcoves that lined the left wall, then gestured to a fourth alcove beyond the haunt light that was almost lost in the darkness.

    ¡°No way of telling what¡¯s in them,¡± she whispered. ¡°Could be more walkers.¡±

    ¡°True.¡± Harald rubbed at his jawline. ¡°Though nothing says we have to descend to them. We can throw rocks from here, draw them to us.¡±

    Sam nodded, considered the path the walkers would take. Up the halfway steps, down the hall toward them, then up the again to the second landing that ran along the wall, then a hard turn to their little entrance landing.

    ¡°Two could come at us at once.¡±

    ¡°Tight fit. But if they do, there¡¯s no railing. One shove and the outermost drops fifteen feet to the hall below.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve no shield to shove them, and they come fast.¡±

    ¡°Kicking worked well last time. And you¡¯ve a shield now. Can you push with it?¡±

    She eyed him sidelong. ¡°Haven¡¯t had the chance to experiment yet.¡±

    ¡°Now¡¯s a good time, don¡¯t you think.¡±

    ¡°Hmm.¡± She considered again. ¡°Four means they¡¯ll be relatively smart. Smart enough to not just rush us, you think?¡±

    ¡°Vic never mentioned their running for reinforcements. But if they do, we retreat, run back to our own portal.¡±

    ¡°Fair.¡± Sam nodded slowly. ¡°We draw their attention. They make their way up either single file or double. I¡¯ll take the outer edge, see if I can¡¯t use my shield to shove one down. You use your abilities. We kill them.¡±

    Excitement coursed through Harald. The ashen walkers stood silently just outside the pale blue nimbus of the haunt light below. Eerie, swaying slightly, cadaverous, alien.

    ¡°Sounds like a plan. You ready?¡±

    ¡°Lanterns down by the arch. Let¡¯s find some rocks.¡±

    ¡°Look at you,¡± grinned Harald. ¡°You¡¯re as excited as a child going to a Seraphic fair.¡±

    Sam snorted askance and shook her head. ¡°I¡¯m the only stone cold professional here.¡±

    ¡°Sure, sure.¡±

    They set their lanterns down together by the archway, sheathed their blades, then rustled up a handful of palm-sized rocks from along the walls.

    A moment later they were crouched back on the landing.

    The hallway was unnaturally still. The faint radiance of the haunt light made the great walls appear to be made of black obsidian. The chains looped overhead hung still, their links massive and rusty.

    ¡°Count of three,¡± he whispered, and rose to standing. ¡°One.¡± They both drew their best rocks back. ¡°Two.¡± He adjusted his stance. ¡°Three!¡±

    And together they whipped their arms forward and hurled the stones down at their prey.

 Chapter 32

    The rocks sailed down to crack into the ashen walkers. One hit a shoulder, the other a back.

    The reaction was immediate.

    The walkers jerked around soundlessly, arms flailing. A moment later one of them noticed Harald and Sam high above on their landing and the knowledge seemed to pass to the other three, who oriented on them a second later.

    But they didn¡¯t immediately rush up the dozen broad steps. Instead they seemed to peer up at them, disfigured heads easing from side to side as they seemed to consider the situation.

    Harald drew his blade. ¡°Come on. What are you waiting for?¡±

    ¡°I think they need more encouragement,¡± said Sam, bouncing another rock in her palm. She frowned, drew her arm back, then loosed.

    The second rock flew down crack an ashen walker right in the face. The blow left a sizeable dent in the monster¡¯s skull and caused it to stagger back into its fellows, who thrust it forward. It stumbled, caught its balance, then tore up the steps, arms outstretched, porcelain claws glittering in the faint blue light.

    ¡°Well done,¡± said Harald, moving to his position at the top of the first flight of steps. ¡°Here we go.¡±

    The other three walkers loped up after the first. They climbed the central flight with ease, turned, and raced up the second set of steps to the long landing just below.

    Harald inhaled deeply, steadying his nerves. Shoulders down, chest out, blade up. He widened his stance. Tower? Yes, no time to think it through.

    The first walker crossed the second landing in four long steps and turned to surge up the last few steps to engage them, arms outstretched.

    Here we go.

    Harald reached for the abyss, sought that elusive nothingness that was everywhere and nowhere at once, and activated his Abyssal Attunement.

    The abyss blossomed within him, and Harald felt it draw on the power of his Throne of Harmony, gaining in strength and potency.

    But something else occurred simultaneously: the Aura of the Aching Depths activated. Rushing power flowed through Harald. It felt like standing under an icy waterfall, his body becoming a conduit for something greater, something alien, something of endless hunger to consume.

    The sounds around him dampened, a subtle effect that stole the edge from his harsh breathing, the slap of the walker¡¯s feet upon the flagstones, the pounding of his own pulse. He felt his presence push out around him, the power of the abyss leeching into the very air itself.

    The ashen walker ran into this nimbus of nothingness and it slowed, its furious assault becoming hesitant, its arms drawing back even as it came up the stairs.

    Power.

    Not just the enhanced physicality of his new-forged body. Not just the sense of corded strength that wrapped around his arms, that flowed up his legs, that spread across his back, but a higher power, distinct from the purified beauty of the Fallen Angel, the power, the awesome, voracious, eternal power welling up from the depths of the abyss.

    Sam was beside him, a silver kite shield appearing in the air just to her left, giving her room to swing.

    But this ashen walker was his.

    Harald swung his blade, the annihilating power of the abyss coursing down its length and sheathing its silver in the deepest jet.

    His blade chopped down in a classic overhand cut and bit into the walker¡¯s arm. Harald felt the abyss blossom, a nexus of eerie, void-like energy connecting with the walker¡¯s essence. His blade cut through the outstretched arm, severing the limb, but the attack drew out a portion of the monster¡¯s vitality, tendrils of dark energy briefly spiraling out into the air.

    The walker jerked back, nearly losing its balance upon the steps. It drew its stump back to its chest, the wound blackened like charred wood.

    A subtle of rush of vitality infused Harald, manifesting as a subtle aura of darkness that enveloped him briefly before fading, not hampering his vision in the least, but a manifestation of the abyss¡¯s blessing about his form.

    All this happened at once, and then the three other walkers bunched up behind the first, reaching for Sam, impatient right till they ran into Harald¡¯s aura.

    One leaped across the gap that separated the right angle turn from the second landing to their own. Harald caught a flash of movement, of windmilling arms as it came at Sam, but he was too intent on his Dungeon Square, black longsword reversing clumsily to slash up under the wounded walker¡¯s guard and open its chest.

    The abyss drank deep.

    Another pulse of vitality flooded into Harald as the wound darkened like ink soaking into the fibrous layers of the monster¡¯s wasp-nest chest.

    Sam shouted her defiance as her silver shield swung about to intercept the leaping walker. It scrabbled at the shield¡¯s edge, hung on, but then the shield winked out of existence and it fell.

    Harald¡¯s foe was hunched over as if winded, wounded arm pressed to its blackened chest-wound. It reached for him with its good arm, but the attack was feeble, a feint perhaps to drive Harald back.

    But the Dungeon Square had its own sweet simplicity, its lethal logic. Hours upon days of training proved their worth. His longsword swept down and back up from the bottom left, slashing across the walker¡¯s thigh and then lopping off its good arm at the elbow. The monster faltered, unable to scream, and Harald finished it off by driving the sword with all his strength down into its neck.

    The abyssal energy blazed where blade met flesh, and the walker fell back and off Harald¡¯s sword, tangling with the last walker, its neck-wound blackening as it fell, and a euphoric pulse of power entered him as he turned to flank the walker fighting Sam.

    She was making short work of it, having cut off a hand and stabbed it once in the chest, but the monsters had no blood, seemed capable of taking simple stabs in stride.

    The quarters were too tight for luxurious swings, so Harald simply booted it in the hip. The monster was light; it was knocked clear off the steps, falling to the floor below.

    ¡°I had it!¡± cried Sam.

    There was no time for a response. The fourth walker had thrust its dying partner away and lunged at Harald, only to run into Sam¡¯s Shield of Valor. The kite shield appeared just before it could tear Harald¡¯s flank open, then disappeared as Harald spun, his abyssal blade slashing horizontally over its arms to slice open its face.

    Its head blackened around the slash, and new vigor coursed into Harald, who laughed, exhilarated. It made him feel invulnerable, untouchable. He wanted to wade in after the monster, to finish it, but the first walker was still stirring at the base of the steps, fighting off its own death.

    So Harald hopped back up beside Sam.

    The two walkers who¡¯d fallen were scrambling back up the stairs, the drop not having hurt them.

    Sam¡¯s Beacon of Hope aura flickered on, and Harald felt its warmth and inspiration wash over him, numbing some of the abyss¡¯s mania. Taking a deep breath he watched as the fourth walker clawed at its blackening visage, then slumped back against the wall, the wound proving fatal.

    The remaining two charged them like maddened bulls, only to falter as they ran once more into Harald¡¯s aura. Still, the loss of their companions had dulled their survival instincts; they simply stumbled over the corpses and right into Harald and Sam¡¯s blades.

    Two or three slashes, and they fell.

    For a moment Harald could only stare at the dead walkers, then he stepped back and surveyed the hall.

    Nothing emerged from the alcoves.

    ¡°I think that¡¯s it,¡± he panted, then sucked in a deep breath as exultation hit him. ¡°We did it!¡±

    Sam¡¯s grin was equally fierce, but she kept her blade up. ¡°It¡¯s good policy to make sure they¡¯re dead.¡±

    ¡°Yeah?¡± Harald stepped back alongside her. ¡°They look dead to me.¡±

    ¡°One way to make sure.¡± And she carefully moved down the steps to slide her blade into each of their heads. It was like stabbing an ancient piece of furniture, their dusty, hollow heads easily giving way before the tip of her sword.

    ¡°Cold, Sam.¡± Harald couldn¡¯t stop grinning. The Aura of the Aching Depths had dissipated with the death of their foes, but those pulses of vitality were taking a little longer to wear off; it felt like a jolt from really good coffee, or the rush one gets after an icy plunge.

    Finishing with the last walker, she frowned at their bodies then glanced at him. ¡°Was it your Abyssal Attunement that did this?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡± He took another deep breath and got himself under control. ¡°Its the touch of the abyss. It leaches their vitality and gives me a burst. Just fading now. It¡¯s¡­ it¡¯s heady stuff, but your aura helps keep me grounded.¡±

    ¡°Wish I could keep my powers going for longer, then.¡± She eyed him. ¡°You looked a little wild there.¡±

    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

    ¡°I felt a little wild.¡± He rubbed the back of his head. ¡°But damn, come on, we slaughtered these four.¡±

    ¡°Yes, we did.¡± Her smile returned. ¡°We had terrain, planning, and a choke point. It was perfect.¡±

    ¡°And your shield is great. I thought it might be a buckler or something, but no, it¡¯s a full-sized kite shield. Excellent.¡±

    Her smile turned to a beam. ¡°Thanks. I kind of love it. When I summon it I hear this ethereal¡­ this otherworldly music, just in my mind. It feels like a song the stars themselves might sing.¡±

    ¡°I feel something when I activate my power, too. Though mine¡¯s less poetic. It¡¯s more¡­¡± He tried to find the right way to describe it. ¡°More like I¡¯m connecting with something so alien that the¡­ the very process of understanding changes my mind. The abyss. While my Aching Depths is active, it feels so overwhelmingly right, the contradictions make sense, but now¡­¡± He frowned and waggled his head from side to side. ¡°Now less so.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s potent.¡± Sam frowned at the dead walkers and the Copper scales that had appeared over them. ¡°I saw them falter when they hit your aura. Like they¡¯d run into mud. And something tells me ashen walkers aren¡¯t usually intimidated easily.¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡± Harald didn¡¯t know what to say, so he simply nodded. ¡°I saw that, too.¡±

    ¡°And Harald.¡± She considered, picking her words carefully. ¡°Your power, when you strike them? I only caught flashes of it, but¡­¡±

    ¡°But?¡±

    ¡°You look pretty terrifying when it happens.¡±

    ¡°Terrifying? How so?¡±

    ¡°Again, I only caught a flash. But¡­ I mean this as a good thing, I guess, as it¡¯ll work to your advantage? But your eyes flashed pure white, like Eclavistra¡¯s? And I saw wisps of shadow flow into you. I don¡¯t know. You looked¡­?¡± Her smile was apologetic. ¡°Just really scary.¡±

    ¡°Huh.¡± Harald considered his warped blade. ¡°I saw it, some. Felt it.¡±

    For a moment they stood in silence, then Sam turned her attention to the bodies. ¡°Shall we divide the scales?¡±

    ¡°How much did we get?¡±

    Sam collected them all. ¡°Ten Coppers.¡±

    Harald accepted his five. ¡°Guess we should hold onto these. For living expenses?¡±

    ¡°Hmm.¡± Sam was studying the delicate, iridescent scales in her palm that glistened with the pale luminescence of the moon. ¡°I¡¯ve got enough in my savings to take care of groceries for awhile yet. Forty percent tax is steep.¡±

    ¡°You want to absorb them?¡±

    Sam bounced her scales in her palm. ¡°I think so? How about this: we¡¯ll shift the split in the dungeon to compensate for my expenses outside. That way we can benefit from all our earnings in here without needing to donate to the Mining Consortium.¡±

    ¡°Sure.¡± Harald handed two of his Coppers back to her. ¡°Sounds smart. I¡¯ve always wondered though. Doesn¡¯t it drive all those bureaucrats mad that we can absorb scales in the dungeon without their being able to tax them?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think it does.¡± Sam raised her palm, closed her eyes, and the scales flared brightly before disappearing. She smiled a quiet, private smile, then looked at him once more. ¡°Everything serves the noble houses in the end. Even our growing strong in here. Remember how they took note of our total number of scales absorbed before coming in? If we spend all our time growing in strength, they¡¯ll notice our advancement on the way out and we¡¯ll gain notoriety. Which will lead to the houses seeking to recruit us.¡±

    Harald scratched at his jaw. ¡°I¡¯m already House Darrowdelve.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t be na?ve, Harald.¡± Sam wiped her sword down with a cloth she drew from her scabbard. ¡°Your father was tough enough to be left alone, and you weren¡¯t worth the effort of recruiting. But if you become noteworthy? You¡¯ll start to receive offers to accept another, bigger house as a feudal lord.¡±

    ¡°Unless I become as strong as my father.¡±

    ¡°You won¡¯t be able to evade their notice in the process of getting there.¡± Sam considered. ¡°Unless you insist on taking the Iron Gate from now on, and working your way down each time from the 1st Level.¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± said Harald dryly.

    ¡°I¡¯m serious. You¡¯re already going to draw a ton of attention for having activated your first Throne on the 4th Level. Actually, that¡¯s going to be a problem.¡± Sam dropped into a crouch, hand going to her chin. ¡°They¡¯re going to assume you somehow smuggled a Zenith Tide in here with you without declaring it, which is a serious crime. Unless we can explain how you acquired 10,000 Copper Moons in a day or two.¡±

    Harald blinked. ¡°Damn. You¡¯re right.¡±

    ¡°Even if we descended to the 21st Level to get Golden Dawns, we¡¯d still need to collect a hundred of them. Which would take weeks. If we could even convince them that we could survive down there.¡±

    Harald nodded pensively. ¡°I obviously don¡¯t want to talk about Vorakhar¡¯s patronage. Or explain my new class.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯ll ask, though you¡¯re not obligated to answer. Not answering will only draw even more attention. Nothing stirs people up like a mystery.¡±

    ¡°So I¡¯ll lie. Say I got something slightly rare, but nothing fancy.¡±

    ¡°And the moment you use your abilities in public? Say, against Yeoric?¡±

    ¡°Right. So you think I should confess my class?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± Sam frowned. ¡°In the long run there¡¯ll be no hiding your abilities.¡±

    ¡°I could claim its a shadow-based class. Do you know of any rare ones?¡±

    ¡°Shadow-based? There¡¯s your basic Shadowmancer Adept, not common, but you see them here and there. Wouldn¡¯t raise any eyebrows. Or you have the much rarer Umbral Sentinel. That might be your best bet, as an Adept isn¡¯t generally a powerful enough class to explain your ascending like this.¡±

    ¡°Umbral Sentinel.¡± Harald tried to remember. There¡¯d been a period when he was younger when he¡¯d devoured all the encyclopedias and history books on the dungeon, but that had been years ago. ¡°What did they do again?¡±

    Sam shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t remember exactly, but they specialize in using shadows to both conceal themselves but also monitor a certain area of the dungeon. They¡¯re like spiders with their webs. They set up shop in an ideal location, then kill any monster that wanders in.¡±

    ¡°And that could explain my growth?¡±

    ¡°Maybe?¡± Sam sounded skeptical. ¡°If you claimed to have set up in an ideal location, perhaps, and then camped out for a week.¡±

    ¡°Man. Vic and Nessa are going to think we died if we stay away that long.¡±

    ¡°Well, I could go tell them. Get supplies. I wouldn¡¯t raise any flags.¡±

    Harald considered. ¡°And I would just stay in here? I guess that could work¡­?¡±

    Sam smiled. ¡°Not ideal, but better than your being arrested for failing to explain how you suddenly got 10,000 Copper Moons.¡±

    Harald considered the corpses. Glanced around the strange hallway, then nodded. To stay in the dungeon for a week or two. Some of the Gold parties were said to spend that long working their way through the deeper levels. They brought entire support crews to sustain them. But Copper raiders rarely had the staying power.

    But what if he did? If he stayed in here, spent his time communing with the abyss, with finding monsters and killing them? Harvesting scales full time?

    After all, what did he have to return to? The Platinum Rose auction, notices of overdue payments on his debts, and Nessa¡¯s lessons? Her sword lessons were the only things he¡¯d truly miss, but he¡¯d be getting enough practice down here regardless.

    Sam was watching him closely. ¡°You like the idea.¡± It wasn¡¯t a question.

    ¡°I think I do. We could arrange places to meet up. You could tell Vic and Nessa. And I could just¡­ stay and fight.¡±

    ¡°Stay and fight.¡± Her stare was deadpan. ¡°You know you sound psychotic? Nobody just ¡®stays and fights¡¯ in the dungeon. Not for long. You need to sleep.¡±

    ¡°Sure. I¡¯ll find a safe place.¡±

    ¡°There are no safe places. Oh, here¡¯s a simple idea: I¡¯ll just go fetch a Zenith Tide. It¡¯s most of what I¡¯ve got left from my life savings, but they won¡¯t tax me bringing it in. Then you emerge first and claim I gave it to you. I¡¯ll either absorb it myself, or pay taxes on it when I come out a day later, by which point they¡¯ll have lost track of what¡¯s going on. Hopefully.¡±

    His vision of weeks spent in the dark hunting monsters faded. ¡°That makes sense,¡± he said reluctantly.

    ¡°Look, if you don¡¯t want my spending all my remaining wealth on you, just say so.¡±

    ¡°No! I mean, I¡¯m sorry. I didn¡¯t mean to sound ungrateful. It¡¯s just that¡­¡±

    ¡°You want to stay down here.¡±

    He winced as he glanced at her. ¡°Kind of?¡±

    ¡°How much has this class changed you?¡± She peered at him. ¡°Nobody wants to stay in a deathtrap dungeon by themselves. Or, they shouldn¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± He studied his palms. ¡°My class gave me a +5 bonus to Ego. I¡¯m at 23 now.¡±

    Sam¡¯s eyes widened in shock.

    ¡°And while I know it would be hard, that difficulty just doesn¡¯t phase me.¡± Harald looked down, centered on his emotions. ¡°I¡¯m not scared. It¡¯s not that I think it¡¯s safe. It¡¯s just¡­ I feel like if I want to do this, then I¡¯ll be able to pull it off. And.¡± He snapped his gaze up to her. ¡°You¡¯ve got a Zenith Tide. You should absorb it, Ascend.¡±

    She held his gaze. ¡°I¡¯ve¡­ thought about it.¡±

    ¡°And?¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t want to be broke. Even after you liberated me from my oath. I¡¯ve always had a home. Your home. The one thing being oathbound gave me was a sense of security, of place. Which was obviously reinforced by my old class. And¡­ the thought of just absorbing all my savings to ascend, and then be broke when Darrowdelve Manor is sold¡­ it was frightening.¡±

    She looked away.

    ¡°Hey, I understand. But we¡¯ve got a new thing going. We¡¯ve got these incredible classes. We¡¯re both divine ranked, Sam. Divine. Forget ascending to the first Throne, if the houses found out we were divine they¡¯d kidnap us on the spot.¡±

    Sam watched him, troubled.

    ¡°What I¡¯m saying is, earning scales to keep ourselves fed and pay for a room somewhere won¡¯t be a problem. Everything¡¯s changed. Everything.¡±

    Sam nodded slowly.

    ¡°You¡¯re not oathbound any longer. You¡¯re no longer a Bright Star. You¡¯re the Brightest Star.¡± He tried to put as much weight behind his words as possible, sensed a barrier of resistance from Sam even as he spoke. ¡°You¡¯re a divine-ranked Netherwarden Knight. You could pick any house to join just by showing them your window. House Drakenhart? Celestara? Silvershield? They¡¯d all fall over themselves to recruit you.¡±

    Sam nodded, uncertain.

    He took her hands in his own. ¡°Sam. You¡¯re a big deal now, and there¡¯s no telling how powerful you¡¯re going to become down the road. You need to change the way you¡¯re thinking about everything. That Zenith Tide? You should absorb it the second you get home, ascend, and then come right back here to earn more.¡±

    Sam inhaled sharply and squeezed his hands, her smile tremulous. ¡°That sounds nice.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s the truth.¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡± She pulled her hands away. ¡°I know.¡±

    ¡°Do you?¡±

    Her expression broke as emotion threatened to emerge from her depths. He saw pain in her face, anguish in her eyes, a desperate hope, a raw denial. ¡°I¡­¡±

    ¡°Oh Sam.¡± He pulled her into a hug. ¡°You¡¯ll see. Remember? You are the beacon that cleaves through night¡¯s veil, the unwavering luminescence that guides the lost and forlorn.¡± Sam stiffened in his arms, but he continued, his tone inexorable. ¡°Your strength is a promise to the world: a light that not only reveals, but elevates.¡±

    She bowed her brow to his shoulder and shuddered, fought the tears, then finally stepped back, her smile bright, her eyes liquid with emotion. ¡°Yes.¡±

    He shook her shoulder gently. ¡°Yes.¡±

    Sam placed her hand over his own and pursed her lips, blinking away the tears. ¡°Yes. But¡­ even with that, I can¡¯t help but remember what Vorakhar said.¡±

    ¡°Vorakhar¡¯s job is to lie.¡±

    Her expression became sad. ¡°I think he¡¯s more cunning than that. He speaks enough truth that the lies slip in without being noticed. And what he said, about my not believing in myself, my not feeling like I deserve this¡­ I can¡¯t shake it.¡±

    ¡°You deserve every aspect of this.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not that.¡± She stared at the ground. ¡°It¡¯s stuck with me because maybe I don¡¯t feel like a whole person yet. You freed me, but¡­ what has really changed?¡±

    Harald didn¡¯t know what to say. They stared at each other. Finally he managed, ¡°You don¡¯t want to raid?¡±

    Sam laughed, the sound bleak. ¡°No, of course I do. And I want to remain friends. It¡¯s just that¡­ I need to think more about who I am. What I¡¯m fighting for. And why this feels like a dream from which I¡¯ll wake up at any moment, and find myself doing dishes again in your kitchen.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not going to happen.¡±

    Sam took a deep breath and straightened. ¡°Yes, of course. But anyway. You want to stay in the dungeon?¡±

    Harald studied her a moment longer, concerned and ill at ease, then nodded. ¡°Sure. You go absorb that Zenith Tide. Tell Vic and Nessa that I¡¯m alive, but that we all need to discuss what happened together. Then bring them back to the 4th Level, where I¡¯ll be waiting.¡±

    ¡°Waiting,¡± she said wryly.

    ¡°Well. Maybe a little hunting.¡± Harald¡¯s smile turned predatory. ¡°The abyss hungers.¡±

    Sam laughed despairingly. ¡°The abyss hungers. By the angels, never say that again.¡±

    For a moment they stood thus, his hand still on her shoulder, hers over his own, their gazes locked.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± she said at last, simply.

    ¡°No. You need never thank me. After all you¡¯ve done? You¡¯ve earned a decade of service from me.¡±

    ¡°Ha.¡± She stepped back. ¡°You¡¯d burn the food, ruin the sheets, and let the house go to the weeds. No thanks.¡±

    Harald grinned then turned to survey the hall once more. ¡°Then I¡¯ll do what I can for you from in here. Shall we explore just a little bit more?¡±

    She stared down at the alcoves below, at the haunt light, then smiled as her aura came back, filling Harald with warmth and latent joy. ¡°Sure. Let¡¯s go kill ourselves a few more ashen walkers.¡±

 Chapter 33

    ¡°All right,¡± said Sam, stepping up to the portal. ¡°You¡¯re going to stay close by?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ve had our fun,¡± allowed Harald. ¡°We¡¯re thirty Copper Moons the richer, and I¡¯ve no desire to be swarmed. I¡¯ll stay close.¡±

    Sam hesitated.

    ¡°What?¡± Harald matched her stare. ¡°After that last one, you think I¡¯m going to go haring off into the dark by myself?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve got enough scales on hand to keep your lantern burning for months.¡±

    ¡°Poor use of scales, if you ask me.¡±

    ¡°We almost got into serious trouble in that warren.¡± Sam¡¯s brows lowered. ¡°I should have known better and not let you convince me.¡±

    ¡°It turned out fine.¡± Harald hesitated. ¡°Though it did get a little dicey there for a moment. But that¡¯s what I¡¯m talking about. I think a rest and some meditation will do me well. How long do you think you¡¯ll be?¡±

    ¡°Depends on Vic and Nessa. If they¡¯re back, I¡¯ll talk to them, explain enough to bring them along, and use their writ to come straight here. The portal being open should mean I get transported to this location again.¡±

    ¡°Right.¡± Harald crossed his arm. ¡°And if they¡¯re not back, if they went to the 16th?¡±

    ¡°Then I¡¯ll have to wait. The Iron Gate will only take me to the 1st Level, and I don¡¯t have the funds to acquire our own writ on short notice.¡±

    ¡°Which means I¡¯ll have to wait. It¡¯s possible Vic and Nessa think we¡¯re dead and won¡¯t go to the house. Which means you¡¯ll need to hunt them down. You can find Vic¡¯s garret in the Shambles close to Victory Market. It¡¯s a five story building, copper shingles gone to green, with a pawnshop on the ground floor called Second Remains.¡±

    ¡°Lovely,¡± said Sam. ¡°Let¡¯s pray it doesn¡¯t come to that. Odds are they¡¯ll take advantage of the manor while they can. Regardless. Hang tight and I¡¯ll be back as soon as I can.¡±

    ¡°This plan is sounding more wobbly by the moment.¡±

    To which Sam arched an impatient brow. ¡°Got a better plan? No? Then sit and wait.¡±

    ¡°Yes ma¡¯am,¡± grinned Harald, at which point Sam flushed.

    ¡°I mean.¡± She paused and gave her head a sharp shake. ¡°Please wait here, all right, Harald?¡±

    ¡°No, I like your tone. It suits you. Almost as if you¡¯ve been waiting years to use it.¡±

    ¡°Very funny. I¡¯ll be back soon. Good luck.¡±

    ¡°See you soon, Brightest Star.¡±

    To which she stuck out her tongue and then stepped into the portal, disappearing.

    Harald took a deep breath and turned in a slow circle. It wasn¡¯t a very defensive spot. The hallway ran what he¡¯d arbitrarily decided to call north and south, with an intersecting hallway to the east. The stairs curved up to the second floor, where they¡¯d done all their fighting these past hours.

    Four methods of approach. Sitting here with his lantern shining would be to invite trouble. But then, where should he go? Up ahead to the north was the haunt light, which wasn¡¯t inviting, while to the south the hallway rapidly faded to darkness.

    Harald frowned and turned in a slow circle again. The darkness felt more pressing, the air damper, the occasional clinking of the chains that hung from the ceiling more oppressive for Sam¡¯s absence.

    It wasn¡¯t just her company. He¡¯d rapidly grown used to her Beacon of Hope aura. It had been sporadic, sure, but each time it returned he¡¯d found himself more centered, his will renewed, and his courage tempered.

    Ah well. He¡¯d have to learn to live without it.

    And Sam.

    ¡°Now you¡¯re going to start talking to yourself,¡± he said, and smiled at his own humor. Uncertain as to what to do, he simply sat on the second lowest step and took out his blade to clean and sharpen it.

    The metal had been warped by the statue on the 47th Level, so that it had darkened, grown iridescent, and taken on a brittle feel. The flex was gone, and had the ashen walkers not been so soft he was sure the blade would have snapped by now.

    Harald frowned. He should have asked for Sam¡¯s sword, though it hadn¡¯t been in much better shape.

    Soon the edge was returned and the dust and black smears wiped from its length. He kept it balanced across his knees, and resisted the urge to dive into his Cosmos and observe his Ascended Throne. He¡¯d be oblivious while down there, which wouldn¡¯t do, would it?

    So instead he drew out some hardtack and smoked sausage from his pouch, and set to eating it as slowly as he possibly could.

    Time passed.

    The 4th Level only grew more disconcerting the longer he sat in silence. Every so often he¡¯d hear a desolate moan echo from the far distance, and leap to his feet, blade raised in anticipation, but nothing ever came.

    ¡°Damn haunts,¡± he¡¯d mutter each time.

    It didn¡¯t help that despite there not being a breeze the hanging chains had a habit of clinking and tapping against each other for no reason.

    He spent time examining his window, reviewing their fights, and thinking through his powers and their possible implications. Why had his Demon Seed approved of his class? What might Vorakhar say if he discovered Eclavistra¡¯s meddling? What was this celestial war? If it were merely between demons, wouldn¡¯t it just be more accurate to call it a ¡®demonic¡¯ one?

    With no way to tell time, Harald had lost track of how long he¡¯d been sitting there when he heard a subtle shuffling sound coming from the large archway that intersected with the main north-to-south hallway.

    He froze.

    That was new.

    The shuffling grew slightly louder.

    Something was coming.

    Several somethings.

    He cast around, then ghosted up the steps to where they curved out of sight and there crouched, reducing his lantern¡¯s glow to the barest ember.

    Blade over one shoulder, heart pounding, he peered down into the broad hallway and waited.

    Ashen walkers emerged through the arch. They were in no rush, and dragged their feet as if reluctant to even move, swaying in that hypnotic manner as they went, as if pulled forward against their will.

    Four. Six. Harald cursed inwardly when he saw eight, and then backed away in alarm as they began to ascend the stairs.

    He scampered to the second floor and stepped out into the familiar hall. There was no way to go but north, to the T-junction. Constantly glancing back, he jogged ahead, stepped into the eastern branch that led into the distant hall of landings and stairs where they¡¯d killed their first walkers, and there considered.

    They¡¯d funnel into the intersection, and then have to decide which way to go. If they turned west toward the first warren, he was fine; he could simply back far enough into the passage that they¡¯d not see him.

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    But if they turned east? The corridor ran forever before emptying into that strange hall with the three alcoves. He¡¯d have to stay ahead of them, then descend and brave the spider to reach the exit past the haunt light.

    ¡°Damn,¡± he whispered, rubbing his chin and peering back toward the stairs. His lantern light didn¡¯t reach nearly that far, so instead he closed his eyes and listened.

    The shuffling sound was growing louder once more.

    Harald took off at a lope toward the strange hall, ran for some thirty seconds, then stopped and turned back again. If he heard them again, it was because they were still following him.

    Thank the angels they didn¡¯t react to distant light.

    Harald closed his eyes again and listened. It was hard to hear anything over the thud of his heart. His brow prickled with sweat. They couldn¡¯t be tracking him, could they? They¡¯d be moving with more urgency if they were. But how could he be sure? What if they continued to follow him wherever he went? He¡¯d have to shake them, find a way to -

    There.

    Shuffling footsteps.

    ¡°Damn it,¡± he hissed again. He¡¯d seen eight, but that didn¡¯t mean more hadn¡¯t followed out. Eight was too many, this hallway too wide. They¡¯d flank him, eventually encircle him, tear him apart.

    With no choice in the matter, he ran on down the corridor, controlling the urge to sprint, and soon saw the pale blue of the haunt light far ahead. A moment later he stepped through the archway onto the small landing, and moved to its edge to peer out again into the deep hall.

    They¡¯d left the walker corpses where they¡¯d fallen, and descended into the hall to check out the alcoves, only to beat a hasty retreat at the sight of a giant spider crouched in the depths of the second one, immobile as a statue.

    The sight of it had nearly given Harald a heart attack. He¡¯d jerked back with a cry, arm flung out to stop Sam, and near dragged her up the steps to the second landing. It had been sable black and covered in bristling black wiry hairs, the size of a large dog, its furry fangs as large as machetes, and it had possessed two massive forward facing eyes that had gleamed like drops of oil in his lantern light.

    ¡°No web,¡± he¡¯d told Sam when she¡¯d questioned his fear. ¡°No web means it hunts. Maybe jumps. You want to tackle that thing while it¡¯s leaping at you?¡±

    She¡¯d stared at him strangely, as if not understanding his fear, but then again, she¡¯d never fallen into a tree stump while exploring the Rambles in the massive Angel Park that dominated the heart of the quarter. A stump full of thousands of white spiders that had rushed all over him as he¡¯d screamed and flailed until his father plucked him out and hurled him into a pond close by.

    He¡¯d had nightmares about those little pearlescent spiders for months. Dreamt that some remained in his hair, behind his ears, in the crooks of his elbows and knees.

    Spiders.

    He hated spiders.

    Looking down now into the deep hall, he felt his skin prickle with horror. Eight or more ashen walkers, or a sprint past the spider below?

    It was a testament to how much he loathed spiders that he turned and tried to calculate the odds. He could fight in the archway, then give ground by retreating down the steps, killing them as they came. Two at a time, though that one had leaped across the gap to attack Sam, meaning he might be flanked on the way down. But if he¡­

    No.

    Harald all but groaned.

    ¡°Fuck.¡± He spat the word out as if it tasted bad. It hadn¡¯t reacted the first time. Maybe it was asleep? Did spiders sleep? Who the hell knew? But he had to make a decision, and fast. Sprint past it, possibly rousing it, or try to creep by? If his Aura of the Aching Depths activated due to the presence of an enemy, that¡¯d silence his footsteps but probably terrifying the hell out of the spider. Did spiders attack when spooked?

    Harald felt the urge to dither. To just waste time arguing with himself on that top landing until forced into action by the arrival of the ashen walkers.

    But that would be the height of stupidity, and his new clarity of mind recognized the trap. Fine, he was terrified of the spider.

    He would still act.

    He navigated the corpses, trotted lightly down the steps and paused at the base of the second flight.

    The great dark alcoves were set next to each other on the hall¡¯s far wall, running down the first half of the room to the dozen steps that led down to the haunt light.

    Harald took a deep breath.

    He¡¯d sprint. Spiders probably felt tremors or whatever, maybe the hairs on their legs were sensitive to air currents. If it was a hunting spider, then it would clearly be good at detecting passing prey. Creeping past it was too risky. This way, at least, if it leaped he would already be dashing past it.

    Harald propped his longsword over his shoulder in a lazy man¡¯s Roof guard, took a final breath, and then burst into a run.

    First alcove.

    Second alcove with the -

    - holy shit the spider the spider - !

    It exploded out of the alcove, front legs extended, little more than a blur.

    Harald screamed and twisted wildly. As fast as he was going, the spider was going faster, and he knew, he knew there was no outrunning it.

    He twisted and fell, swinging his longsword around in the wildest slash he¡¯d ever made. He had a brief glimpse of the spider¡¯s underside; the leap had brought its back legs into play, so that it came at him like a hairy flower, eight-petalled, its bulbous abdomen extending straight behind it.

    Frantic with terror but keeping control of himself, Harald fell beneath the spider even as Aura of the Aching Depths flared up and Abyssal Attunement turned his blade the purest black. It cut deep into the spider¡¯s underside, and a pulse of energy flooded into Harald even as everything became hairy legs and scratching wires.

    Then it was gone, off him like a shadow fleeing the noon sun, scuttling back into its alcove to disappear through a crack at the back.

    Harald lay on his side upon the buckled flagstones, unhurt, with milky blue ichor splattered over his hip and thigh.

    ¡°Fuck,¡± gasped Harald, all eloquence fled. He stared wide-eyed at himself, not believing he¡¯d escaped unscathed, then peered into the gloom at the back of the alcove.

    There was a jagged crack through which a six-year old might squirm to their doom, and two glistening threads of spider silk affixed to the rear wall, looped across the hallway¡¯s floor, and then cut off halfway back.

    Had it been his Aura of the Aching Depths aura that had terrified the spider? Maybe? It was still just an insect, right? Perhaps touching the abyss, and then feeling that nothingness bloom in its side when Harald had struck had caused it to run like hell.

    Harald blew out his cheeks, half-elated, half-terrified, and then saw the first of the ashen walkers appear on the landing above.

    He scrambled to his feet and snatched up his lantern.

    The walkers turned to begin descending, then paused at the sight¡ªsmell?¡ªof the corpses.

    Harald began backing away slowly toward the halfway stairs.

    The front two walkers raised their wasp-nest heads jerkily, movements no longer languid, and oriented on him.

    ¡°Fuck!¡± Harald gave up all pretense of creeping and leaped down the stairs, taking them four at a time.

    Silence from behind. What was it with this floor and silent hunters? The spider, the walkers - !

    He hit the floor running and dashed through the azure haunt light that flooded the rear of the hall. The spirit barely had time to begin manifesting when he was out the far side, shoulder hitting the wall as he stepped onto the narrow band of darkness, and ran to the final alcove, which he and Sam had assumed was an exit.

    It wasn¡¯t an exit.

    Instead the alcove ran back about four yards, then ended in a shelf of rough stone. A dark cloth had been stretched across it, and on this lay a skeleton, a green blade running down its center.

    ¡°Fuck!¡± Harald glanced around wildly. How many raiders had died screaming that very word? He darted back to the alcove entrance and recoiled.

    The walkers were leaping down the steps, ropy arms thrown out wide, leaning forward as they poured toward him, only to stop just shy of the haunt light.

    Harald stood there panting, his stance deep, blade raised in the Plow.

    But the walkers seemed to have abruptly calmed down. They swayed from side to side as if peering through smoky glass, then began to sidle out wide around the periphery of the haunt light.

    Couldn¡¯t they see him through it? Had he disappeared?

    Harald took a deep breath and set his lantern down by the mouth of the alcove. There were ten walkers. They formed a wall of alien bodies just outside the glacial blue radiance. With smooth coordination they spready out along its curvature till they formed a cordon with less than a foot or two between each one.

    ¡°What?¡± Harald¡¯s voice sounded profane in the silence. ¡°You don¡¯t want me anymore?¡±

    Why weren¡¯t they attacking?

    There were ten of them. That made them extra smart, right? Or extra smart for ashen walkers. They probably knew they could swarm him, overwhelm him. But his alcove lay just barely beyond the haunt light, scooted into the very corner.

    If they came at him en masse, most of them would be forced to fight from within the ghastly radiance.

    Oh¡­

    Harald grinned. ¡°Not worth coming after me if it provokes the haunt?¡±

    They were fixated on him, but as one began swaying, as if rooting themselves to the spot.

    Harald didn¡¯t lower his blade. His gaze flicked from one to the next. He couldn¡¯t sprint past them. No gap was wide enough, and if he stopped to fight his way through he¡¯d summon the haunt. Same problem they had. Unless he could cut one down swiftly and then dart past the others without being grabbed.

    They¡¯d be ready for that, though.

    If they were as smart as Vic had intimated.

    The moment Harald ran into the light, they¡¯d probably bunch up.

    Perhaps he could feint, run one way then cut to the other.

    But ashen walkers were frighteningly fast in large numbers once they snapped out of their trance.

    And a mistake would be lethal.

    Uneasy, pulse racing, Harald stood still and watched them.

    The pool of haunt light was just over twenty feet in diameter and filled the rear of the hall but for a dark strip along the back wall. This shadowed corridor was some five feet wide on the side opposite Harald, narrowed in the middle to perhaps one or two feet, then broadened again to another five where Harald stood.

    ¡°Fuck,¡± he whispered, but this time in resignation. He glanced up and around, searching for a gap in the wall, a means to escape.

    Nothing.

    The ceiling was a good thirty feet up and enshrouded in gloom. It was feasible that there was a tiny passage up there, but he¡¯d no easy way of climbing, and who was to say the walkers wouldn¡¯t swarm him the moment he put his sword away to climb?

    He was trapped. Well and truly trapped.

    ¡°Fuck,¡± said Harald again, heart pounding as he straightened. ¡°Fuck.¡±

 Chapter 34

    The ashen walkers were patient.

    They shifted, swayed, clearly paid close attention to Harald, but they didn¡¯t make a move.

    Instead they formed their horrific wall of half-slurried paper flesh, malformed heads twisting to and fro as if listening for the sound of his heart, and waited.

    ¡°Well then,¡± said Harald, propping his blade upon his shoulder. ¡°It looks like we¡¯re at a stalemate, gentlemen. The ten of you, myself, and our haunt. Whatever shall we do?¡±

    The ashen walkers, shockingly, made no response.

    Harald grimaced and raised his scale lantern once more. The golden rays scaled the heights of the walls, but revealed nothing useful. He was in a dead-end hallway.

    ¡°There¡¯s a lesson to be learned here,¡± he told the walkers. ¡°Don¡¯t assume a fancy archway means an exit. Even if its at the far end of a dubiously constructed hall. It could just be the entrance, to a, what, exactly?¡±

    And he twisted about to peer into the recessed room once more. It was barren, built of the same poorly fitted flagstones, the wall damp and mossy, but for the shelf at the back.

    Harald frowned at the skeleton.

    Now that he thought about it, that was a first. Not a cache of scales, not a warren, not a blind alcove.

    A tomb.

    With a strange green-bladed sword lying down its length, as if the dead man¡ªor woman¡ªhad held it down the length of their body, hilt upon their sternum.

    He turned back to the walkers. They seemed to be watching him more closely.

    ¡°Who¡¯s that, then?¡± He gestured to the inside of the tomb. ¡°Friend of yours? No? Fine. Don¡¯t tell me.¡±

    If he stepped into the alcove, the walkers might take the chance to swarm through the azure light and flood into the safe zone, pushing into the alcove and swamping him.

    Then his back would be against the wall with no exit and ten angry ashen walkers wanting a word.

    ¡°Damn it,¡± he muttered. Somehow the lethality of the situation had remained sky high while the urgency had greatly dulled. He licked his dry lower lip and considered his options. Worst case scenario he could simply camp out here and hope Sam would show up eventually with Vic and Nessa.

    That would be a tidy solution, though Sam would probably want a word after.

    But there were four paths they could take from the portal. What were the odds Sam would retrace their steps to this particular spot?

    Harald flared his fingers on the hilt of his warped and brittle blade. His Aura of the Aching Depths wasn¡¯t activated. Either the walkers were just out of range, or his power somehow knew not to waste its proverbial breath. Could he project his aura, perhaps funnel it at one distinct target, and in doing so force that particular walker back so he could run through?

    ¡°Damn it,¡± he muttered again, then shook his head ruefully at how limited in variety his commentary had been thus far.

    ¡°The way I see it, you lot are used to standing around. You¡¯ll just watch until given your opportunity. So it¡¯s my call as to what happens next. Am I right in guessing that?¡±

    No answer.

    Harald glanced back into the tomb and raised his lantern once more. The green blade glimmered darkly, as if glimpsed at the bottom of a pond.

    ¡°Not very regular, finding green swords. Or skeletons. A fallen raider, you think? Or a fixture of the dungeon?¡±

    The ashen walkers were proving to be terrible conversationalists.

    ¡°It is, however, the one variable at hand. Though this being the 4th Level, there¡¯s a limit on how powerful it could be. Better than my current blade, that¡¯s sure.¡±

    Harald bit his lower lip. Fear simmered just beneath the surface. Fear of dying here, alone in a forgotten corner of the 4th Level. The sheer intensity of being alone with ten monsters who were patiently waiting to tear him apart was like a constant pressure.

    A pressure that would have reduced him to a pleading wreck before, but that was when his Ego was 3.

    It was now 20 points higher.

    Which meant he was able to enjoy a wicked clarity of mind and continued focus even as existential dread sought to scramble his thoughts and make him holler for help.

    ¡°Right. Blade inside. I move to fetch it, you all come swarming across. The moment I leave your line of sight, I reckon. Ten ashen walkers, eager to test my new sword. But sitting here talking to myself isn¡¯t getting me anywhere. So let¡¯s give this a go, shall we?¡± He raised his brows and stared expectantly at the walkers. ¡°I¡¯m going to grab the blade. You all come get me. We clear on our roles? Then let¡¯s do it.¡±

    And Harald set his lantern by the base of the archway to dart into the tomb, grabbing hold of one side of the arch with his hand as he did so.

    But he didn¡¯t race to the back of the tomb. Instead he skidded to a stop, whipped around, and counted to two.

    It took every ounce of his newfound will to do so carefully and slowly.

    One.

    The slap of feet on the haunt-lit floor.

    Two.

    Then he stepped back out, light on the balls of his feet, energized by terror, gut doing its manly best to climb up between his lungs.

    The ashen walkers were hurling themselves through the searing blue light, arms outstretched.

    Coils of black smoke were already forming where the illumination was brightest.

    ¡°Hello, assholes,¡± said Harald, raising his blade high above him into the Roof as the Aura of the Aching Depths flooded the air with the absolute nullity of the abyss.

    The walkers, ten in number, were smart. They instantly realized they¡¯d been fucked with. Half their number clutched at the others as they sought to push off and back, while the rest stumbled and came at Harald, committed.

    And ran right into his aura.

    Harald could intuit what they felt the second they hit it.

    That initial disorientation as they ran into the subtle shift of perception, sound seeming to muffle, the air feeling thicker, as if they moved underwater. That would turn unease into dread; whatever minds they possessed would recognize how wrong the dungeon had become, some primal survival instinct warning them away from the abyss¡¯s energy, seeing it as an existential threat.

    But the abyss sapped at their will, mired them in doubt. Fear would flare up even as their ability to handle the situation dropped, eroded by an inexplicable sense of futility and despair.

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    The shadows around Harald would deepen, move of their own accord, and faint whispers would sound from no discernible source. The icy chill of the haunt light would grow even more frigid, and every ounce of their being would know that this wrongness, this danger, this threat, came from one source and once source alone: Harald.

    Then they were on him, panicked, made clumsy by the Aching Depths, flailing and seeking to rend him limb from limb.

    But Harald was ready.

    Four converged on him, and he slashed a wide overhead stroke, his classic opener, and the Abyssal Attunement ran along his sword, darkness limning its edge.

    Cool calculation allowed him to swing at just the right moment and then continue swinging as he flowed through the Dungeon Square. His black blade swung diagonally down, cutting off two hands and cleaving through half a forearm, the chill of the abyss blackening stumps and poisoning the wound, but even as he gave ground his blade sang back up, a glorious arc of nullity that cut through the paper flesh with ease.

    All the while his aura deadened and panicked the walkers, drove them back.

    They tried to force their way out of the light. Two others dithered behind them, pushing and pulling at their shoulders in their efforts to leave the haunt¡¯s domain.

    Harald couldn¡¯t give up too much ground. The archway was wide enough for them to come at him three abreast. So he forced himself to stop stepping back and simply swung faster, not even trying to hit any particular foe, just forming a wall of jet-black steel, each blow delivering a pulse of energy as it stole it from the wounded walker.

    Just a few seconds more.

    Both hands on the long hilt, Harald fought for balance, for poise, his mind detached enough to remember Vic¡¯s barked instructions, Nessa¡¯s pointers.

    Shoulders back.

    Chest out.

    Stance wide, but shifting, side to side with each swing, adding speed and force to the revolving blows.

    It was impressive how fast you could swing a blade with a little practice, especially if you weren¡¯t intent on hitting anything specific.

    The two walkers in the back gave up on pushing through and instead simply exited the light to line up against the back wall in the two-foot-wide penumbra.

    Because the haunt had finally manifested.

    It arose behind the four like a slow-moving vortex of shadow, a humanoid form intimated within, all long arms, hunched shoulders, and long hair concealing the sketched in face. But its claws. Its claws were pure business, each six inches long and so dark they matched the hue of Harald¡¯s blade.

    The darkness of the abyss.

    The darkness of death.

    The haunt descended upon the four walkers in a blind fury.

    Who wheeled, sought to strike back, or simply raised their arms to protect themselves.

    Harald didn¡¯t waste the opportunity. He stabbed and slashed, trying to maintain control, to not get sloppy, to not lose himself to the mania of the moment.

    The haunt made short work of the four, tearing them apart with a horrifying ferocity. Their bodies flew apart, and then they were all dead.

    But for the two sidling along the wall toward Harald, walking the dark path just outside the haunt-light¡¯s radiance.

    This Harald could handle.

    ¡°Gentlemen,¡± said Harald, raising his blade in a salute, and then he lunged and stabbed the first in the chest. The point of impact immediately blackened, tendrils of shadow leaching out as a kick of energy flowed into Harald¡ªjust as his sword flexed and then broke.

    ¡°Shit,¡± said Harald, holding the blade up as the wounded walker scrabbled at its chest wound.

    He had about a foot of sharp steel remaining above the hilt.

    Not good.

    Harald resisted the urge to throw the ruined weapon at the walker in an act of hollow defiance, and instead darted into the tomb proper. This time it was no feint. He ran all the way to the back and hesitated for but a second.

    ¡°Apologies,¡± he whispered, then snatched up the longsword from where it lay amidst the old bones.

    Only then did he drop his ruined one, turning as he raised the new sword before him.

    A bronze coin formed the pommel, emblazoned with what looked like a crude pictogram of the sun. The crossguard was minimal, also of bronze, inlaid with some pattern or image he didn¡¯t have the time or illumination to catch.

    But the blade.

    It wasn¡¯t verdigrised copper or bronze as he¡¯d imagined. It was a strange new metal, and even in the faint light of the lantern he could see how the light shimmered down its length as if it were subtly scaled, or patterned with endless wave-like patterns.

    A message appeared before him as his fingers closed about the ancient hilt.

    Artifact Acquired: Verdant Dawnblade

    Quality: Common

    Special Ability: Dawn''s Retrace

    That¡¯s all he had time to read before the next ashen walker was upon him, having shoved its wounded fellow aside.

    Harald dismissed the message, raised his blade into the Tower, and then stepped forward to meet its rushing attack with a straightforward chop.

    Abyssal Attunement caused the green of the blade to swirl; black pulses like smoke flooded up the length of the sword but didn¡¯t engulf the malachite green completely.

    Still, his ability proved true: the sword cut with preternatural sharpness through one hand and diagonally up the other forearm.

    Nessa¡¯s lessons proved their worth; Harald stepped forward and to the side as he struck, turning so that the walker¡¯s momentum carried it past him and into the stone shelf. Even as it sought to turn, Harald reversed his blow and clove its head clear off its narrow shoulders.

    The head actually sailed through the air, trailing dust. The body collapsed, dragging down half the bones and the dark cloth with it as it swiped blindly with one arm.

    Harald danced back, already turning to the archway.

    The wounded walker was staggering toward him, the abyss¡¯s touch having blackened its chest and leached its life force. It hit his aura, slowed further, deprived now of half or more of its pack¡¯s intelligence boost, and then swiped a claw clumsily at him.

    Harald swayed back. The claw missed by inches. It was a simple matter to chop its arm off, reverse the strike, and upswing its chest completely open.

    The walker fell back to collapse upon the floor.

    Only then did Harald realize he was panting furiously for breath. Blinking away sweat, he stepped up to the archway where his lantern yet burned brightly, and surveyed the scene.

    The haunt was fading away, still swirling around and around its domain as it raged.

    Four ashen walkers remained on the far side, but now they paced restlessly, bumping into each other, clearly disturbed.

    Possibly even upset.

    Harald took a deep sucking breath. Six down. Four to go.

    He just watched, taking advantage of the respite till the haunt had completely faded from view, and summoned the Verdant Dawnblade¡¯s description again to finish reading it.

    Artifact Acquired: Verdant Dawnblade

    Quality: Common

    Special Ability: Dawn¡¯s Retrace

    Activation: Once per day, invoke the blade to reveal the ghostly trail of your last vanquished foe. Witness their steps unwind back to the previous dawn, allowing you to follow their path through time. Pursue at your pace, and their spectral echo moves accordingly, leading you to origins unseen.

    +2 to physical stats if wielded at dawn

    Limitation: The spectral trail dissolves with the first light of the new dawn; the pursuit is bound by the cycle of day and night. Your chase is a solitary quest; only your eyes can perceive the phantasmal passage.

    ¡°I¡¯ll be damned,¡± whispered Harald, admiring the malachite sword. He felt a moment¡¯s awe. This was a genuine Artifact, a creation of the Fallen Angel, a miracle. It was rare to find one, but not unheard of. That it was Common was to be expected; he was only on the 4th Level after all. Once it had been almost expected to find Common or Uncommon Artifacts on the first dozen floors, but those glory days were long past. Just as most the caches of scales had been scoured, so had the frequency of Artifact discoveries dropped.

    And this was a beautiful find.

    He¡¯d never bound an Artifact to himself, but had heard of how simple the process was: you simply willed the Artifact to bond with your Cosmos, and then¡­ it did.

    Harald wanted to close his eyes, to dive into his Cosmos, to commune with the Artifact, to make some manner of ceremony out of this moment, but there was no time.

    So instead he simply willed the Artifact to bond with him, and felt its presence meld with his own spirit, sinking deep into his being.

    And like that, the Verdant Dawnblade became his.

    ¡°Well then,¡± he whispered, lowering his sword to consider the remaining four Ashen Walkers. ¡°Shall we?¡±

    The approach was at once simple and obvious. He¡¯d roll the flank. Once he was absolutely sure the haunt was gone, he took a deep breath and darted along the left wall, right beneath the burning blue light to emerge on the radiant bubble¡¯s far side, wall to his back.

    The walkers reacted swiftly, but not as quickly as before, and the first to assault him ran straight into his aura and staggered as if slapped.

    Harald stepped out wide to the left, away from the haunt-light, and clove through the first walker¡¯s shoulder and out its chest, Abyssal Attunement poisoning the mortal wound even as a pulse of vitality rushed into him.

    He moved to the next, and cut it down with one blow. Another rush of energy filled him, easing the aches and exhaustion.

    The third leaped at him, so Harald simply ducked and dodged it to run at the fourth, which crouched as if frozen with fear.

    His aura washed over his foe and he clove through its upraised arms, the first few inches of his green blade slicing cleanly through its warped face.

    It was a lethal blow. He didn¡¯t need to see it die. Fresh energy filled him and he spun to see the remaining walker charging him.

    Harald rose from his crouch and sidestepped at the last second, turning to cut through its neck with a wild slash.

    The last Ashen Walker collapsed to the floor, slid a few feet, then lay still.

    Harald stared about himself. The hall was empty. Husks of his foes lay strewn about as if torn by a toddler having a tantrum.

    Slowly, scales rose from each corpse to hover and glitter.

    ¡°Damn,¡± whispered Harald, thrilled, amazed, stunned.

    He could only shake his head.

    Somehow he¡¯d done it.

    Somehow he¡¯d killed all ten and not taken a single wound.

 Chapter 35

    The last of the stolen energy from Abyssal Attunement drained away, and Harald felt his legs grow shaky. Taking deep, steadying breaths he strode over to the first step that rose to the elevated first half of the hall, and sat heavily.

    For a moment it was all he could do to just sit there shivering. He wasn¡¯t cold. Wasn¡¯t wounded. But his hands shook, his jaw felt jittery, and he couldn¡¯t quite catch his breath. He observed himself dispassionately even as he felt his emotions roil and peak within him.

    ¡°What the hell?¡± He set the Dawnblade beside him and set to rubbing his thumb in the other palm, then shook out his arms and sat straighter.

    His heart was pounding, pounding, pounding, like a mallet seeking to burst out from his ribs, and he couldn¡¯t seem to catch his breath no matter how much he focused on drawing deep lungfuls of air.

    But the strange reaction didn¡¯t last long; soon he felt himself settle, and after awhile he was able to take up his malachite blade once more and examine its length.

    No notches, no nicks. The malachite tracery over the subtle black undertones was mesmerizing; he tried angling it back and forth and watched liquid gleam flow down its length. It didn¡¯t even feel like metal, more like slick, cool stone with a wicked edge.

    An Artifact.

    Again he summoned its description, whispered it aloud as he reread it. ¡°Once per day¡­ghostly trail of your last vanquished foe. Huh.¡±

    He considered the last walker he¡¯d slain. He could trace its path back through the day, back to dawn.

    For awhile he just sat with that concept, worked it around in his mind. Tried to pry forth the utility. It meant he could follow wandering monsters back to their lairs, find where they came from. Perhaps if ever had to defend himself against an assassin he could work out their base. Thieves.

    But mostly it would be to figure out where monsters and fiends came from. Which could be incredibly useful; the denizens of each level seemed to know their levels far better than any map could ever elucidate. Following the path of one such could reveal all manner of secrets.

    Possibly.

    The temptation to use the power now was strong, but he held off. He could activate the blade¡¯s ability at any time before the next dawn, which, admittedly, he¡¯d lost track of. First, however, the scales.

    Harald heaved himself to his feet and scooped up the easy pickings, collecting 12 Copper Moons, then plotted a path through the haunt light and jogged through, scooping up scales till he stepped out against the far wall. Another 11 Copper Scales. Then he entered the tomb, collected 5 more scales, for a total of 36. Combined with the 17 he¡¯d collected both with Sam and during their initial run with Vic and Nessa, and he had a full purse of 53. About half a Golden Dawn, or five Silver Starbursts.

    ¡°Man.¡± He tried not to feel let down. ¡°At this rate it¡¯ll take me forever.¡± 100,000 Copper Moons to Ascend to his second Throne felt impossibly distant. It also drove home how massive the sums he¡¯d been playing about with before had been: a Horizon''s Whisper, the stake of his bet with Yeoric, was the complete 100,000 Coppers he¡¯d need. If he raided the dungeon for two thousand straight days he¡¯d make a single Horizon at the rate he was harvesting.

    Five and a half years of daily raids with pitched battles.

    No wonder raiders joined the noble houses or sought direct patronage like Vic and Nessa.

    Unless of course he simply descended to the levels where there were greater spoils.

    Harald nudged one of the dead walkers with the toe of his boot. As frightening as these monsters were, they were surprisingly easy to kill. After all, they just ran at you with their arms outstretched, manifesting some basic cunning only in larger numbers.

    If you found yourself a good choke point and were patient and calculating, well. The results spoke for themselves.

    Then again, the lower levels would have their equivalents of leaping spiders and haunts.

    The raider¡¯s quandary: play it safe and spend your life harvesting Coppers, or descend a little and risk it all for Silvers.

    Harald jingled the scales in his palm, thoughtful. The first twelve levels were called the Iron Levels due to being introductory in nature; all could be reached via pentagrams in the Dungeon Portal, but the 11th and 12th Level was where you first started harvesting Silvers with any regularity.

    It wasn¡¯t ridiculous to consider dropping to the 11th next time with Sam to see what damage they could do below. His current haul, if they¡¯d all been Silvers, would be worth over 500 Coppers.

    That would mean only 200 straight days of raiding to acquire a Horizon¡¯s Whisper.

    Much better than five years.

    Harald inhaled sharply and glanced around, coming back to the moment. For now he had to get back to the portal. Curious, however, he stepped over to the stone shelf and studied the disturbed bones.

    An adult, he¡¯d guess, the bones pale. The skeleton had been laid upon an ancient green cloth, but all of it had been tugged at by the falling walker, so that it was dragged halfway off.

    Revealing a clearly incised pattern on the shelf itself.

    ¡°Hello,¡± whispered Harald, turning his head to consider the markings. ¡°What have we here?¡±

    It was a series of small rectangles and squares, six in total, each numbered in random order.

    Harald gingerly placed the bones back on the cloth, then hesitated and scooped up those scattered on the floor as well. This he bundled up and then set against the wall so the entirety of the shelf was exposed.

    Six slightly different squares and rectangles. A map of sorts? Did each signify a room on the 4th Level? Then why the order?

    Harald rested his hip against the shelf and crossed his arms, lost in thought. Abruptly he pulled out the blade and examined it anew, wondering if it perhaps were the key to the puzzle. He laid it upon the squares, moved it around, but it didn¡¯t in any way conform to the squares.

    He tried pushing the squares in order, but they were merely etched into the rock.

    ¡°Damn,¡± he whispered. He had no parchment with him to sketch the pattern either. Again he sank into reverie, staring out at nothing, and then he blinked.

    A large block in the far wall was the same shape as the largest of the squares incised into the shelf. He checked and saw another block conforming to the second square, just two yards over. For a moment he simply flicked his gaze back and forth, and in rapid succession found all the blocks that matched the pattern.

    They were right there, embedded seamlessly into the wall.

    Surprise and delight blossomed in his chest. Glancing one last time at the pattern, he stepped up to the first block. Other than its shape it was indistinguishable from its neighbors.

    Should he come back with Sam and the others? The blocks weren¡¯t going anywhere.

    But what were the odds that following secret instructions would lead to danger?

    Slim, surely.

    Plus he was just too damn curious.

    Harald placed his palm on the block and pushed.

    There was some resistance, then something clicked audibly and the block retracted an inch, the sound gravely as if grit had gotten into the machinery.

    He stepped back, admired his handiwork, then moved to the second block. In quick succession he pressed each one, and when the sixth block retracted a greater rumble sounded from behind the wall, like a huge rusted contraption coming reluctantly to life, and a segment of the wall retracted completely and then slid aside.

    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

    A secret door.

    A musty smell exhaled from the darkness.

    Harald raised his lantern in one hand, malachite blade in the other, and peered inside.

    A narrow corridor extended into pitch darkness, crudely cut into the living rock itself. He could even make out the faint grooves of the chisels.

    Again he bit his lower lip and glanced out the tomb. What if the door closed behind him? What if it led to some ancient horror?

    Harald flexed his fingers on the grip of the malachite blade. Five years. That¡¯s how long the cautious approach would take him. Five years of non-stop daily grinding, harvesting Copper Moons and praying he didn¡¯t make a mistake.

    Or he could take a gamble.

    The nature of this setup indicated a reward, did it not? A hidden boon? Otherwise it would have been simpler to have the blocks trigger the roof to collapse or giant iron spikes to shoot out.

    He knew he should be content. He¡¯d succeeded against all odds here, won a hard-fought victory. Wisdom indicated he should retreat, wait for his friends, play it safe.

    But he simply wanted more.

    Raising his lantern he stepped through the aperture into the narrow tunnel. He moved forward cautiously, constantly glancing back, but the doorway didn¡¯t close.

    The air was cool and had a mineral tang. The floor was damp. His shoulders brushed both walls as he walked.

    At least if he were attacked here his foes would have to come at him one at a time.

    Dawnblade resting on his shoulder, he advanced.

    The darkness was absolute up ahead and behind. He moved in an endless island of golden light, the walls scrolling by, the ceiling pressing close.

    His mind remained calm, however. Once the tightness of the passage might have bothered him, but no longer.

    As long as he didn¡¯t run into any spiderwebs, at any rate.

    The passage began to slope down. Subtly at first, it soon became quite steep, so that Harald had to advance cautiously so as to not slip.

    Down and down, till at last he came to its end: a flat wall.

    Harald scowled. That didn¡¯t make sense. Had the tunnelers simply given up? He stepped in close and examined the dead end. Smooth stone, but with a seam running alongside the edges.

    Interesting.

    As he moved his lantern about the shift of subtle shadows gave away another feature; a faint plaque of metal about two inches wide at head height, set flush against the wall.

    ¡°Hmm.¡± Harald leaned in close to examine it. A single nail was driven into the upper left corner.

    It took a little effort, but by pushing up on the bottom right corner he caused the plaque to swivel up and around, revealing a narrow slot in the stone through which blue light faintly glimmered.

    Harald stepped in and put his eye to the gap.

    The wall proved to be only two inches thick, and beyond lay another massive chamber.

    Harald¡¯s vantage point was high up; he could look out over the great rectangular room and take most of it in. A broad walkway encircled the hall, rimmed with a waist-high stone parapet. Broad stairs descended to the ground level on the north and south ends, along with a pair of far steeper and narrower flights of steps along the broad eastern side across from him, each at its own opening in the parapet.

    Stood to reason two other flights led down from his own side as well. Four narrow sets of steps, two massively broad ones.

    And below?

    A raised well, its rim edged in glimmering bronze, as if a flame burned within the coppery metal itself. Above it floated a single scale, its coloration ethereal and ever-changing, shifting with the elusive beauty of an aura glimpsed at dusk.

    The well stood at the center of a hexagonal dais, two encircling steps of stone rising from the floor. The rest was familiar buckled flagstones, though in each corner of the sunken ground floor stood statues so demolished and covered in lichen that Harald could only guess that they had once been representations of the Fallen Angel.

    There was one dark archway on the ground floor, set into the wall between the pair of steep stairs. No matter how Harald peered, he couldn¡¯t make out anything within its dark frame.

    But the entire room was filled with the brightly burning azure burn of haunt-lights.

    The four corners of the walkway around the great room were filled with their own searing radiance, while smaller pools were located at the top of each narrow flight of stairs. Two more pools burned with cold blue light at the base of the large staircases, while four more small pools burned at the base of each flight of narrow stairs.

    The giant hall seemed flooded with glacial blue light.

    Harald just frowned.

    He couldn¡¯t understand what he was looking at. Ten distinct pools of haunt-lights of varying sizes? Was this a haunt¡­ graveyard of sorts? But all of it arranged around that well with its livid bronze rim, a precious Aurora Veil Driftshell hovering above its empty heart. From where he peered down at it, the well appeared the pupil of a great eye, the bronze burning like a supernatural iris, the hexagonal dais the eye itself.

    For awhile he simply studied the chamber. There were massive archways at the head of the broad flights of step, leading off into the dungeon. So this room could be reached by other means. But this secret passageway of his opened on the walkway about halfway along the hall. He could feasibly hop the parapet, drop to the floor below and reach the well without passing through any haunts.

    And there snag a scale worth 1,000 Copper Moons.

    Sam had indicated that the well on the 47th Level was probably a portal to the next level down.

    Would this one lead him to the 5th Level?

    Harald rubbed at his chin.

    The Aurora Veil was an alluring treasure. By his current understanding, it represented twenty days¡¯ brutal work.

    If he could open this door it could be his.

    Then he could race up the steps, moving through the haunt-lights faster than they could manifest, and re-enter his passageway before anything he could stop him.

    Excitement gripped him.

    He¡¯d come away from this raid with 1,050 Copper Moons. And wouldn¡¯t possessing an Aurora Veil go a long way to convincing the authorities that he¡¯d found a dozen more, which would explain his Ascending to his first Throne?

    A uniquely rare cache of Aurora Veils.

    Yes, that could make sense.

    But first, how to open this door?

    It didn¡¯t take him long to figure out. He found a familiar pattern of blocks on the right wall, and after carefully depressing each in order, the secret door pushed out with a grinding shudder and slid out of view to the left along the wall.

    Harald grasped his malachite blade with both hands as he peered left and right along the walkway that ran along his wall.

    Nobody.

    No ashen walkers, no spiders, nothing at all.

    Still, he waited a good five minutes before venturing out. It felt interminable, but there was no reason to rush.

    His first step was the most nerve-wracking. He could envision each haunt-light flaring up the moment his boot touched the flagstone, but again, nothing happened.

    Wary, glancing back and forth, Harald stepped up to the parapet. It was a steep drop. Some fifteen feet to the ground floor. But the walls below were ancient and roughly built, or perhaps the architecture of this place had simply been roughened by time. He¡¯d be able to scramble back up.

    ¡°All right,¡± he whispered to himself. His malachite blade fit his scabbard almost perfectly, but left a couple of inches of green blade exposed once it refused to go in any deeper.

    He¡¯d need his hands free to climb back up.

    Harald took a final deep breath, set his lantern on the low wall, and rubbed his sweaty palms on his hips. Then slid his legs over the parapet, lowered himself till he hung from his hands, and dropped.

    He fell into a neat crouch, heart racing, and peered around again.

    No movement. There was a second archway between the two steep staircases on his side, mirroring the first. The darkness within was impenetrable.

    Again Harald waited, straining to hear anything. The shuffle of ashen walkers¡¯ feet, breathing, a low rumbling snarl.

    But there was nothing.

    Slowly, cautiously, he rose to a half crouch and ghosted toward the well. Up the couple of encircling steps to the broad wellhead proper.

    The bronze rim was fascinating. Its inner light flowed and fluctuated like a living coal, highlighting to gold along its copper curvature. He peered inside the well, but the burning smolder failed to illuminate anything deeper than a foot or so. Beyond it was pure darkness.

    ¡°Well,¡± he whispered. He turned about, studied each haunt light, the twin archways, then looked back to the Aurora Veil.

    Never had a scale looked so beautiful.

    It slowly revolved in place, its fluted length shimmering as effulgent greens chased rich blues along its length, the occasional streak of yellow flashing through.

    A quick grab, then he¡¯d dart to the wall, up to that rough shelf, grab those blocks there, and hoist himself up to the parapet. Over the top, into the passage, and he¡¯d run all the way home.

    Harald raised his hand, flexed his fingers.

    The silence was terrible. Oppressive.

    It felt as if the entire dungeon were holding its breath.

    ¡°Here we go,¡± he whispered, and snatched the scale from its invisible column.

    Nothing happened.

    But Harald didn¡¯t want to tempt his luck. He raced to the wall and leaped, snatching at handholds, and quickly scaled to the parapet, which he swung himself over.

    Dropping into a crouch, he paused to survey the room. No matter what he saw, he vowed, he¡¯d make his exit. There was boldness, and there then was suicidal foolishness.

    Nothing. The haunt-lights didn¡¯t flare up. The dark alcoves below didn¡¯t disgorge some horror.

    Harald felt a brief thrill of victory. A well-executed and daring plan had rendered its reward.

    Dropping the precious scale into his pouch, he stepped into the passageway and turned to key the sequence.

    Even as he pressed the sixth block, however, and initiated the grinding of the secret door, he saw a figure appeared at the top of the broad stairway at the far end of the hall.

    Harald¡¯s eyes widened.

    It was a young woman clad all in white, a pair of slender angel wings furled behind her, conveying purity and power. Her face bore a stoic beauty, etched with classical features: high cheekbones, full lips, a straight nose. Her alabaster skin was unblemished, her face framed by a short mane of curly black hair cut at jaw length.

    The door was swiftly grinding closed.

    The woman remained where she was, twin arming swords held with casual expertise, their points resting on the ground.

    There was a fierceness to her stare as she gazed at him, a majesty, that completely froze him in place. She was a study in duality: martial and serene, her white silk gown with its black corset belt contrasting with her warrior aspect.

    He wanted to call out, but knew not what to say.

    Then the door closed, blocking her from view.

    For a moment Harald could only stare at the door¡¯s inside, but then he pressed his eyes to the slot and tried to spot her.

    She¡¯d disappeared from the top of the stairs.

    Frantically he pressed the blocks in sequence once more, and again the machinery protested and swung the door free.

    But when Harald stepped back out onto the walkway, his fears were confirmed.

    The angelic woman was gone.

 Chapter 36

    Harald rose from his crouch when Vic stepped out through the portal, lantern raised, rapier in hand.

    ¡°Hello, Vic,¡± he said, trying to disguise his relief. It was almost impossible to tell for how long he¡¯d been waiting since leaving the hall with the angelic visitor¡ªsix hours? Ten?

    Time got funny in the dungeons.

    Nessa emerged next, longsword at the ready, and then Sam stepped through, her eyes widening with relief at the sight of him.

    ¡°You,¡± said Vic, raising his rapier nonchalantly so that its wicked tip pointed at Harald¡¯s chest, ¡°have a lot of bloody explaining to do.¡±

    Harald looked to Sam. ¡°How much did tell you them?¡±

    ¡°Enough to convince them to come back. Not as much as they¡¯d like.¡±

    ¡°Not nearly enough,¡± said Nessa, tone cold, gaze hard. ¡°Seeing as you forgot to mention you¡¯re friends with demon princes.¡±

    Harald winced. ¡°My apologies. I¡¯d no idea Vorakhar would choose to show when he did.¡±

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter what you thought,¡± said Vic, and gone was his humor, his dry wit, his insouciant bon homie. ¡°You¡¯re going to get one chance to explain what¡¯s going on, and if it doesn¡¯t justify what looks like mortal negligence from where I¡¯m standing, well. I might get upset.¡±

    Harald raised both hands. ¡°Sword, Vic?¡±

    Vic considered, then lowered his rapier.

    ¡°Now,¡± said Nessa. ¡°Explain.¡±

    ¡°All right.¡± He¡¯d gone over this scenario dozens of times while waiting, but in the moment he couldn¡¯t remember what he¡¯d resolved to say. The truth, then.

    ¡°You never met my father,¡± he began. ¡°But you know of him.¡±

    ¡°Sure,¡± said Vic, stepping back to lean against the far wall. ¡°Darius Darrowdelve the demon slayer. Made quite a stir a decade ago with his equally big claims.¡±

    ¡°He had a Nightshard scale to back his claims up,¡± said Harald. ¡°That was enough for most. Especially as he wasn¡¯t intent on trying to become a major house. He cashed it in almost immediately and declared a neutral stance on all the politics. Well. The demon prince that visited us earlier was the same one he claimed to have slain.¡±

    ¡°Oh ho,¡± said Vic, though the smile failed to reach his eyes. ¡°Duplicitous daddy.¡±

    ¡°Yes. Well.¡± And Harald sketched it out. His first sojourn into the dungeon, the dire rats, the visit from the demon. The offer he¡¯d made, and how Harald had, in a delirium, accepted.

    ¡°So I woke up with my window changed. A new Soul Nature, Rank, and Ability. A fresh perspective on life.¡±

    ¡°So that¡¯s what happened.¡± Vic glanced at Nessa, who was still frowning at Harald. ¡°I knew there was more to your tale than second chances. Nobody changes that radically of their own accord.¡±

    ¡°You lied.¡± Nessa¡¯s voice was forbidding, cold as the grave. ¡°You told me you changed. But that¡¯s not the truth, is it? You were changed.¡±

    Harald took a deep breath. ¡°Vorakhar explained. He said he didn¡¯t change me so much as bring my strength to the front. This is a version of myself that would have manifested if everything had gone right in my life, affirmed my best instincts. But it¡¯s still me.¡±

    Nessa¡¯s smile was cruel. ¡°Well. Now I know who to call on when I decide to turn a leaf on my glory habit.¡±

    ¡°Harald was dying,¡± snapped Sam. ¡°You¡¯re not.¡±

    ¡°Regardless, it set me on this new path.¡± Harald drew himself up. ¡°And I¡¯ll be honest: I¡¯ve no regrets. I¡¯ve not been asked to do anything¡­ demonic, nor do I feel like another person. I just feel like the Harald I always wish I could have been.¡±

    ¡°How sweet.¡± Vic¡¯s smile was saccharine. ¡°A Harald who fails to mention all of this to his bosom friends.¡±

    ¡°Bosom friends?¡± Harald stepped up to where Vic stood. ¡°Is that what we are, Vic? Are you telling me you¡¯ve taken no advantage of me, before my change, or after? That you care only about my wellbeing, and haven¡¯t sought any angles on how to benefit financially from me in any way?¡±

    ¡°Touch¨¦, Harry-boy.¡± Vic¡¯s eyes remained killer-cold. ¡°I guess we¡¯re all finally acting like grown-ups here. But all that aside, your failure to mention your new infernal allegiances nearly got us killed. I¡¯ve never put your life in danger.¡±

    ¡°Fair.¡± Harald took a deep breath, resisting the urge to argue for arguments¡¯ sake. ¡°I should have told you. I simply had no idea Vorakhar could track me as he did. Or would remain interested. Call it na?ve on my part. Or idiocy. But I was just as surprised as you were when he showed.¡±

    ¡°Idiocy suits,¡± said Nessa. If Vic appeared cold, she looked quietly furious. Genuinely upset. ¡°Though there are other, perhaps, better words.¡±

    Sam stepped forward. ¡°Vic, Nessa. I¡¯ve frowned on Harald¡¯s friendship with you both since it began. But he insisted on keeping you around. I advised him to refuse your help, Nessa, given your glory addiction. And Vic, you¡¯ve never pretended to be other than what you are, a charming opportunist.¡±

    ¡°Tell us what you really feel, darling,¡± said Vic.

    ¡°But Harald didn¡¯t listen to me. He accepted your help, Vic, because I think he genuinely considers you a friend. Nessa, you know better than any of us what Harald did to bring you on board. You both need to consider him through that lens, not just what happened here in the dungeon. Harald¡¯s a genuinely good person. Na?ve, yes, but come on: he¡¯s spent his life living a dream, protected by luxury. You both know that. You took advantage of it. He made a mistake, but it wasn¡¯t malicious. Now you all need to decide what happens next: an end to this partnership, or a second attempt on a clearer terms.¡±

    ¡°Will you look at Sam,¡± said Vic, affecting surprise. ¡°So forceful, so outspoken. Have you been hiding this delightful personality behind your maid¡¯s feather duster all this time?¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s right.¡± Harald stepped back, giving Vic room. ¡°I still consider you both my friends. Not only that, but I need you both. Your help, your advice, your¡­¡± He cast around, looking for a better word, then shrugged helplessly. ¡°Your friendship. I¡¯m in way over my head. You both know so much more than I do. I¡¯ll understand if you want to cut things down to pure business, given how we¡¯re connected now through Countess Sonora, but I¡¯d appreciate trying this again. Trying to elevate what we¡¯ve got going on beyond half-truths and opportunism.¡± Harald glanced from Vic to Nessa, both hard to read. ¡°I¡¯d like to be real friends. Raiders. To fight together, work together, rise together.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re a demon¡¯s toy,¡± said Nessa. ¡°That doesn¡¯t bode well for long-term prospects.¡±

    ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t know about that,¡± said Vic carelessly. ¡°He¡¯d hardly be the first to strike ill-advised bargains.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡± asked Harald.

    ¡°Well, daddy for one,¡± said Vic. ¡°Then there are rumors about some of the greatest houses. Nothing definite, but suspicions. House Thornvale¡¯s meteoric ascent, for example, has caused no end of rumors and suspicions.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re not talking about Rowan Thorn,¡± said Nessa. ¡°We¡¯re talking about Harry-boy Darrowdelve. You really think he¡¯s going to keep his head for long with a demon prince pulling his strings?¡±

    ¡°Nobody is pulling my strings.¡± Harald spoke with confidence, staring hard at Nessa. ¡°I am my own man. The only influence Vorakhar has had on me is giving me a second chance at life and endowing me with a Demon Seed. And all that does is reward effort. It¡¯s why my physical stats have jumped from six-six-five to eleven-nine-twelve in under a month.¡±

    ¡°Wait, what?¡± spluttered Vic.

    Nessa¡¯s eyes went round as an owl¡¯s.

    ¡°Yeah.¡± Harald grinned. ¡°You noticed how my paunch is gone?¡± And he smacked his stomach. ¡°Well, mostly gone. But there¡¯s muscle under the fat now, and I can run for miles around Season Park without losing my breath. A big chunk of that came from my new class.¡±

    Vic closed his eyes delicately and gave a little shake of his head. ¡°New class what now?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll tell you everything.¡± Harald paused, letting the words sink in. ¡°No secrets. But only if we¡¯re going to try and make this friendship between us all work. Otherwise what¡¯s the point?¡±

    ¡°You could simply satisfy my raging curiosity,¡± said Vic.

    ¡°Ha,¡± deadpanned Harald.

    ¡°Hmm.¡± Vic sheathed his rapier and rubbed at this chin, swiveling to glance at Nessa then turning back to Harald. ¡°Friends. Bosom companions. I suppose these changes explain the new way you¡¯re looming, Harry-boy. You look bulkier. But in a pleasingly intimidating manner. Less of a melting dessert and more of a¡­¡± He paused, searching for the right word. ¡°A monolith about to tip over and crush me. It¡¯s a good look. Intimidating, even. And, well. We¡¯re already in bed with you for a couple of Horizon¡¯s Whispers. What¡¯s a little demon influence on the side. Nessa?¡±

    If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    She was glaring at Harald, brows lowered, face pale. ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t know. You lied to me, Harald. You inspired me with false hope.¡±

    ¡°Not false,¡± said Harald. ¡°I meant everything I said.¡±

    ¡°But was that you talking, or the Demon Seed? No, don¡¯t bother answering. Obviously you¡¯ll take the credit, but that¡¯s what you¡¯d do regardless of the truth.¡± She hadn¡¯t put her blade away. ¡°I¡¯m not even particularly bothered by the demon¡¯s appearance, or the agony he caused me. I can scratch that up to your na?ve stupidity. It¡¯s your daring to speak to me the way you did last night. The false pretenses. That hurts, Harald.¡±

    Harald considered answers, rebuttals, all manner of responses coming to mind. But in the end there was only one worth saying. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Evernessa. I truly am. I never meant to betray your trust.¡±

    She held his gaze, eyes glittering, and then, at long last, sheathed her longsword.

    Vic clapped his hands. ¡°What an intense little chat we¡¯re having. And shame on you, Nessa, for never mentioning this little tet-a-tet you had with Harald. It sounds quite stirring. But I¡¯m willing to let bygones be bygones. I can recognize a stirling opportunity when I see one, and being a rank opportunist, am eager to seize it.¡± He raised a finger as Sam went to protest. ¡°Especially, that is, as this opportunity comes by way of a dear friend whom I¡¯d be most willing to help out, or, shall we, say, continue to help out as I¡¯ve been doing.¡±

    His words hung in the air.

    In the distance, chains clanked dismally.

    Nobody spoke.

    Vic¡¯s turned from one person to the next expectantly, then gave a heartfelt sigh. ¡°I see Nessa isn¡¯t as mercurial with her affection as I am. How about this: we¡¯ll table the need to decide the matter for now, and extract ourselves from the dungeon. Return to Harald¡¯s manor, have a good wash, a meal, and then discuss our options before that lovely big fireplace in the first parlor. What do you all say?¡±

    That¡¯s when Harald noticed. Both Vic and Nessa were wearing their adventuring gear from before, and both looked worn and weary. ¡°How long have I been down here?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s been a day and a half since we saw you last,¡± said Vic. ¡°We hung around like whipped dogs for far too long, waiting to see if you¡¯d return, and then decided to return to the portal to see if you¡¯d made it there instead. No dice. So we returned to Flutic where I tried to chase down an old acquaintance who knows more about devilry than anyone else I know, but they refused to see me due to past indiscretions. A frustrating waste of time. We¡¯d only just returned to your manor to see if you¡¯d made it home when Sam burst in, yelling something about needing to run right back to the Dungeon Plaza.¡±

    ¡°Thank you,¡± said Harald quietly. ¡°For trying to help.¡±

    ¡°Honestly, Harry, what do you take us for?¡± Vic threw out his arms. ¡°We are¡ªor were¡ªor may yet be¡ªyour friends. Four years we¡¯ve wasted together. Why do you think we care for you only as much as we do a pair of slippers?¡±

    ¡°I brought a Zenith Tide,¡± said Sam. ¡°I¡¯ll return without it, then you emerge later and use it as part of your explanation for Ascending to the first Throne.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s this now?¡± Vic¡¯s eyes opened in innocent surprise. ¡°First what¡¯s-it?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve Ascended to your first Throne?¡± demanded Nessa, brow furrowing in shock. ¡°The demon gave you a Zenith Tide?¡±

    ¡°Not quite,¡± said Harald. ¡°But yes. First Throne, new class, all sorts of surprises. I¡¯ve much to tell. But Sam and I were worried about my being charged with something for Ascending while ostensibly only on the 4th Level. That they might suspect my being connected to demons, for example.¡±

    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t worry about that,¡± said Vic. ¡°They won¡¯t care. They¡¯ll make a clear note on how much you¡¯ve risen, sure, but all sorts of underhand dealings take place in the dungeon. If they investigated every raider who leaped in power it would not only be a bureaucratic nightmare, but they¡¯d run afoul of the Houses that don¡¯t want Mining officials snooping around their business. No, they don¡¯t mind how you advance, as long as you¡¯re willing to entertain offers from the Houses that want to take advantage of you.¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± said Sam, shoulders sagging.

    ¡°It was a good plan, though,¡± said Vic, leaning over to pat her encouragingly on the shoulder. ¡°Very smart, very thoughtful.¡±

    Sam glowered at him.

    ¡°Well. Then I¡¯m all for Vic¡¯s suggestion,¡± said Harald. ¡°Let¡¯s head out. I¡¯ve been down here for far too long without sleeping.¡±

    ¡°You didn¡¯t sleep?¡± asked Nessa, surprised all over again. ¡°You don¡¯t look like someone that¡¯s been up for two days.¡±

    ¡°One of my new abilities,¡± said Harald. ¡°It gives me little jolts of energy. Not really great in the long term, though.¡±

    ¡°Must be nice,¡± said Vic. ¡°Is it a coffee-related class you¡¯ve got?¡±

    ¡°Something like that,¡± grinned Harald. ¡°But it¡¯s really starting to catch up with me. Shall we head back to my place?¡±

    Everyone looked to Nessa. She was still staring at Harald, her expression obdurate, but finally she nodded. ¡°Fine. We can at the very least continue this conversation.¡±

    ¡°Good.¡± Harald gestured to the portal. ¡°Shall we?¡±

    ¡°Indeed. Let the best looking of us sally forth.¡± And Vic stepped into its burning face and disappeared.

    Nessa frowned at Harald one last time and followed suit.

    ¡°You doing all right?¡± Sam hesitated before doing the same. ¡°I felt like I was gone for far too long.¡±

    ¡°Fine,¡± said Harald. ¡°I¡¯ve got some surprises to share with you, too.¡±

    ¡°Surprises?¡± Now it was Sam¡¯s turn to frown. ¡°More demons?¡±

    ¡°No. Watch this.¡± He raised his hand, and summoned his Artifact.

    The Dawnblade materialized, its malachite length gleaming in the scale-light.

    Sam¡¯s eyes nearly popped out of her head. ¡°An Artifact? You found an Artifact?!¡±

    Harald managed to restrain from grinning too widely. ¡°I explored a little. Had time on my hands, you see. But yes.¡± He willed the blade to fade away, and it disappeared, back into his Cosmos. ¡°I¡¯ll tell you all about it over a glass of wine.¡±

    ¡°Impossible,¡± said Sam. ¡°I can¡¯t even¡­ Harald. You keep this up, they¡¯re going to pressgang you into House Drakenhart or something.¡±

    ¡°They can try. Now let¡¯s hurry up before Vic and Nessa get mad at me all over again.¡±

    Shaking her head, Sam stepped through the portal and disappeared.

    Harald took one last look around the 4th Level. Took in the great stone walls, the dismal air, the distant bright haunt-light. It felt as if he¡¯d been down here for weeks, not days.

    Then he drew forth the Aurora Veil Driftshell and considered its ethereal beauty before absorbing it into his palm.

    A wash of health and power spread through him, easing aches and revitalizing him all over again.

    He repeated this with forty of his Copper Crescents, leaving his purse with just over ten scales left to show the taxation authorities.

    Now. Time to get back home.

    So thinking, he stepped into the portal at last.

    * * *

    The group reconvened in the first parlor.

    The heavy curtains were drawn against the night, and Vic had taken the initiative of building a large fire in the great hearth, so that the parlor was toasty and the air had a faint but inviting scent of cottony smoke. A couple of artfully placed lanterns filled the large room with pools of mellow gold, but for the most part the old furniture was sunken in shadows outside the warm firelight, around which four armchairs had been set.

    Harald emerged from the wine cellar with one of the bottles he¡¯d found in the hidden room. He sat in an armchair with a sigh, and handed it over to Vic, whose eyebrows shot up as he blew the dust off the yellowed label.

    ¡°What¡¯s this? How did this escape my roving eye? A 767 House Emberfell Crimsonell? Harald!¡± He raised his gaze with something akin to reverence. ¡°You could sell this for three Golden Dawns to the right buyer.¡±

    ¡°That poor buyer¡¯s going to have to weep lonely tears,¡± said Harald, stretching his feet out toward the fire. ¡°Do us a favor and open it up?¡±

    ¡°With unabashed delight,¡± said Vic, rising and moving to the side table. ¡°Ladies? Care to drink scales in liquid form?¡±

    Nessa was combing out her wet locks, head tilted to one side, gaze locked on the fire. ¡°A glass, if you please.¡±

    Sam, on the other hand, hadn¡¯t dared emerge from her room till she was perfectly presentable; she wore a gown of fine wool dyed dove gray, and her damp golden hair fell down her back in neatly combed mane, worn loose for perhaps the first time Harald had ever seen. Her voice was tentative: ¡°Yes, thank you.¡±

    ¡°Sam!¡± Vic turned to face her. ¡°Be more assertive. Wait. Is this the first time we¡¯ve socialized outside of the kitchen?¡±

    Sam was sitting straight backed, hands in her lap, looking very self conscious.

    ¡°She¡¯s a maid at heart,¡± said Nessa dreamily. ¡°Even if she has a new class.¡±

    Sam flushed and looked down.

    ¡°You¡¯re going to eat your words, Nessa,¡± replied Harald, not bothering to get worked up. ¡°Wait till you hear her new Soul Rank.¡±

    ¡°Do tell,¡± said Vic, turning back to pour the wine. ¡°You were a level hundred Majordomo before, weren¡¯t you? What are you now? A demonic handmaiden?¡±

    Harald watched Sam, not wanting to intercede too much, to let her fight her own battles. She looked lovely. Her gown had a modest square neckline with a touch of delicate embroidery, and her sleeves were long and gently fitted, with a slight flare at the wrist. She wore a braided belt of leather with a tasteful buckle, and a simple pendant hung from her neck, gleaming elegantly in the firelight.

    A brand new dress. Knowing Sam she¡¯d have purchased it years ago, and spent long nights dreaming about wearing it out on a night just like this.

    And now here she was, living her dream, her golden skin flushed not from the firelight, but her heightened emotions.

    Come on, Sam, he willed. Own the moment.

    Sam took a deep breath and raised her gaze to where Vic was glancing back at her. ¡°I¡¯m a Level 1 Netherwarden Knight. And my new Soul Rank is Divine.¡±

    Vic¡¯s hand jerked so that he almost overpoured; his whole body lurched as he fought to save the wine and just barely refrained from pouring it all over the table by swooping the whole bottle up in an exaggerated scoop.

    Nessa had paused combing and turned to stare at Sam. ¡°You¡¯re what?¡±

    ¡°A Netherwarden Knight.¡± Sam¡¯s voice grew more sure as she read her description out loud: ¡°Sworn defenders against entities that emerge from beyond, Netherwarden Knights wield the power of light and darkness in equal measure. Their solemn oath to protect reality from the encroaching nether forces grants them abilities that are both awe-inspiring and fearsome.¡±

    Neither Vic nor Nessa spoke.

    Sam raised her chin, as if daring them to mock her.

    ¡°Divine, hey?¡± Vic crossed over and handed her a glass first. ¡°Well. It looks like the sky¡¯s the limit for you then, darling, and perhaps not even that.¡±

    Sam almost immediately looked uncomfortable once more.

    ¡°Here you go, Harry-boy.¡± Vic handed him the second glass. ¡°Netherwarden Knight. I thought I knew all the classes, but that¡¯s a first. Nessa?¡±

    Nessa shook her head, mystified.

    ¡°You are about to become a very sought after commodity, Samantha.¡± Vic leaned against the back of Harald¡¯s chair, his own wine momentarily forgotten. ¡°Once word gets out, that is.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve no intention of letting that happen,¡± said Sam tightly.

    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t worry about Nessa and I, our lips are sealed. But.¡± Again Vic considered her. ¡°You must have plans for yourself, outside of cooking Harry¡¯s meals? One day you¡¯ll want to make a play for power, for fortune, for¡ªI don¡¯t know, what dream have you always harbored in your little heart?¡±

    ¡°Vic, you¡¯re assuming she has dreams,¡± said Nessa. ¡°And my wine?¡±

    ¡°Hmm. Oh, right.¡± He pushed off and walked back to the sideboard. ¡°Sam?¡±

    Sam stared down at her glass. ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t want fame, or wealth.¡± Her voice has returned to its hesitant cadence. ¡°I want¡­ it¡¯s right there in my class description. I want to protect Flutic and the continent from the darkness that lurks in the dungeon.¡±

    ¡°Noble,¡± said Vic, handing Nessa her glass. ¡°How does that square with your jumping into portals at the behest of demons, though?¡±

    Sam raised her gaze, expression solemn. ¡°That was to help Harald. I¡¯ve no interest in further dealings with Vorakhar.¡±

    ¡°Somebody had best send him a note, then. Harald? Mind sharing your class?¡±

    ¡°We never agreed on whether we were going to continue raiding together,¡± said Harald softly. He sniffed at his wine; it had a heady nose, rich and velvety, with a faint touch of berries and leather. ¡°Nessa?¡±

    Nessa was gazing at the fireplace once more, wine glass pressed to her lower lip. For a long, long moment she made no answer, the silence filled only with the pops and crackles of the burning logs, and then she sighed. ¡°Of course I¡¯ll stay. Where else would I go?¡±

    She turned to smile at Harald, a smile made gentle by pain and remorse, by acceptance and melancholy. ¡°For a moment there I thought things could be different. But that was just a dream. Nobody really changes, do they? Not without outside intervention. But there¡¯s still a need for my sword. For my lessons. So I¡¯ll stay. Things will return to how they were, and that¡¯s not¡­¡±

    She trailed away and looked dreamily once more into the fire. ¡°That¡¯s not bad. That¡¯s actually fine. Perfectly, adequately, predictably fine.¡±

 Chapter 37

    "Well,¡± said Vic, staring at Nessa in dissatisfaction, ¡°that¡¯s one lesson we could learn from this, I suppose. I prefer to focus on the positive.¡± He raised his glass of wine. ¡°Which is that Sam and Harald both emerged victorious from the dungeon, replete with new classes and a drive to conquer the peaks of notoriety.¡±

    Harald raised his glass with a grimace and finally took a sip. The wine was sublime. Smooth at first and then blooming with all manner of exquisite flavors.

    ¡°Hmm,¡± said Vic, nodding his appreciation. ¡°You¡¯ve been holding out on me, Harald.¡±

    ¡°No longer.¡± Harald stretched, leaned back in his armchair, and put his dismay at Nessa¡¯s reaction aside. ¡°So, let me fill you in on what happened.¡±

    And he told them. The way the Demon Seed had driven him and rewarded him, what had transpired below on the 47th Level, how he and Sam had fought and died until Eclavistra had shown up.

    ¡°Eclavistra?¡± Vic leaned forward. ¡°You¡¯re serious? A second demon? At this rate you¡¯ll be dragging a rag-tag crowd of demon royalty behind you each time you enter the dungeon.¡±

    ¡°She seemed in competition with Vorakhar,¡± said Harald. ¡°I think she was trying to poach us, but was too aware of our skepticism. And she spoke about a celestial war taking place. That ring a bell for you?¡±

    ¡°Hmm, no.¡± Vic sat back. ¡°I may sound erudite and use big words, but that¡¯s merely my over-compensating for my humble upbringing. I¡¯ve avoided studying anything that¡¯s not strictly necessary for my continued survival with the utmost diligence.¡±

    ¡°A celestial war,¡± mused Nessa, running a finger tip around her wine glass. ¡°The four angels in the aether have never shown much interest in their fallen sister.¡±

    ¡°Yes, true.¡± Vic considered. ¡°But that was Eclavistra¡¯s choice of words? ¡®Celestial¡¯?¡±

    ¡°Yes. Though.¡± Harald paused.

    ¡°¡­yes?¡± prompted Vic after a stretched out moment.

    Harald glanced at Sam. ¡°I may have seen an angel while Sam was fetching you both.¡±

    The three of them simply stared.

    Harald flushed and sipped his wine.

    ¡°May have seen an angel,¡± said Sam. ¡°That¡¯s what madmen or Essentialists say.¡±

    ¡°Luckily I¡¯m neither. I most definitely saw one.¡± And Harald recounted how he¡¯d been driven forth by the ten ashen walkers, cornered, and then killed the lot of them.

    Now it was Nessa¡¯s turn to interrupt. ¡°You slew ten ashen walkers? By yourself?¡±

    ¡°I did, yes.¡± Harald desperately tried for nonchalance. ¡°It was touch and go for a moment, but I managed to whittle them down with a little assistance from the haunt¡­ and my newly acquired Artifact.¡±

    ¡°Oh fuck off!¡± said Vic, bolting to his feet. ¡°Honestly, Harald, just go find a fetid cesspool and toss yourself right in. You saying you found an Artifact?¡±

    Harald extended his arm and summoned the Dawnblade into his palm. It glimmered in the firelight, alien and beautiful.

    ¡°Well I¡¯ll be damned,¡± whispered Vic.

    Nessa set her glass down and rose slowly, as if scared of spooking the blade away. ¡°A longsword? Harald, what does it¡­ what does it do?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s only a Common Artifact,¡± Harald began, only to stop as Vic glared at him.

    ¡°Only, Harry-boy? When did you up and become a jaded prig?¡±

    Harald snorted. ¡°It gifts me a physical stat boost at dawn, and otherwise allows me track the movements of anyone¡ªor anything¡ªI¡¯ve killed, back till the last dawn. I¡¯ve not tried that power yet.¡±

    ¡°Fascinating.¡± Nessa hesitated, then extended her hand. ¡°May I?¡±

    ¡°Sure.¡± Harald sat back and watched as the Bladeweaver stepped out into the center of the parlor. She angled the blade to stare down its length, then grasped it with both hands and raised it. Took a few languid slashes, then frowned and stared down its length again.

    ¡°What?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Nothing. It¡¯s beautifully balanced.¡± She returned it to him. ¡°Perfectly so, just four inches beyond the hilt. Perfect weight, as well, but it looks to be made of stone¡­ so strange. A beautiful weapon.¡±

    Harald turned it about, admiring his find. ¡°Thanks.¡±

    Nessa took up her wine and sank back into her chair. ¡°And Artifacts are supposed to be nigh indestructible. It should serve you well.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s my hope.¡± Harald dismissed the blade, loving the sensation, the fact that he now had a gorgeous weapon permently stored in his Cosmos of all places.

    ¡°Harry-boy.¡± Vic¡¯s tone was long suffering. ¡°You said something about an angel? As marvelous as your exploits killing ashen walkers may be¡ª¡±

    ¡°Yes. Well, one of the walkers knocked over the bones on the shelf, revealing a code. Which I realized mapped onto the wall. Which unlocked a secret door, which led a long ways down to another room containing a well and nine haunt-lights.¡±

    ¡°Nine?¡± Sam stared at him. ¡°Tell me you didn¡¯t go in there alone, Harald.¡±

    ¡°So I went in there alone, and pulled off a perfect plan. It was neat, simple, easy. I grabbed the Aurora Veil that was hovering over the well, and made it back up to the secret passage¡ª¡±

    ¡°Of course he finds an Aurora Veil on the 4th Level,¡± groaned Vic.

    Nessa slapped his thigh lightly. ¡°Shut it, Vic. Let the man talk.¡±

    ¡°And as the door was closing, I saw her. She appeared at the top of the stairs, two swords in hand¡ª¡±

    ¡°Two swords in one hand?¡± Vic frowned. ¡°Harry. How big was this angel? Or did she just have very¡ª¡±

    Nessa slapped his thigh harder.

    ¡°A sword in each hand,¡± clarified Harald. ¡°She was staring at me as the door closed. Not angry, but fierce, like she was taking my measure. But the door closed before I could do anything, and then she was gone.¡±

    The other three glanced at each other dubiously.

    ¡°You said she was an angel¡­?¡± prompted Sam.

    ¡°She had feathered wings?¡±

    Sam nodded. ¡°That would do it.¡±

    ¡°Feathered, not scaled?¡± Vic tapped his chin. ¡°Interesting. Seeing as all the depictions of the Fallen Angel are positively draconic, given her being covered in billions of scales.¡±

    Harald shrugged. ¡°She was definitely an angel, and had this incredible presence to her. Like I said, fierce and martial but also elegant and wearing this beautiful white gown¡­¡±

    ¡°Harry¡¯s in love,¡± said Nessa archly.

    ¡°The man sees just one angel,¡± replied Vic grinning, ¡°and he falls head over heels for her.¡±

    ¡°An angel?¡± Sam sounded mystified. ¡°You two ever heard of something like that?¡±

    ¡°On the 4th Level?¡± Nessa shook her head. ¡°No. Deeper? Sure. There are legends. Lone raiders, lost or wounded, who spot her. Sometimes she helps, most often she doesn¡¯t. But I¡¯ve never met nor heard of anyone who¡¯s actually seen her themselves. Just stories passed down. More myths than actual accounts.¡±

    ¡°Like sea monsters,¡± said Vic.

    ¡°There are sea monsters,¡± said Harald.

    ¡°True. Just like there is, apparently, a lonesome angel wandering the dungeon. Though I wonder why she came to take a look at you. Unless she was guarding that scale jealously?¡±

    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± Harald sipped and stared into the fire. ¡°But just as Vorakhar or Eclavistra made an impression, so did she. She¡¯s no lost lamb. I wouldn¡¯t put it past her to be able to defeat one of the demons in battle.¡±

    ¡°Harald, you know nothing about battles,¡± said Nessa wearily.

    ¡°But Eclavistra did call it a celestial war.¡± Sam glanced around their group. ¡°Maybe the demons are fighting her?¡±

    ¡°Who knows?¡± Vic gestured expansively. ¡°We could conjecture all evening long, but that¡¯s all it would be. Conjecture. What I want to know are the details of your classes. Your Actives and Passives. Share?¡±

    Sam sat forward with a hard smile. ¡°Why don¡¯t you go first, Vic? Seeing as we¡¯re all putting our cards on the first.¡±

    ¡°Oh, the kitty has claws,¡± drawled Vic. ¡°Sure, I¡¯ll share. I¡¯ve nothing to hide. Well.¡± He pretended to consider. ¡°Regardless. I¡¯ve three Actives: Piercing Lance, which you¡¯ve seen me use, Web of Steel, which is my flashy defense, and Aura of Cruelty, which you would think was a Passive, but you¡¯d be wrong.¡± He pointed at Sam with a smile. ¡°I have to actively choose to be cruel. My true nature is genial and meek.¡±

    ¡°Sure,¡± said Sam.

    ¡°Passives, I have Body of Steel, quite nice, but a bit of a misnomer, more like Body of Really Tough Leather at this point. Inherent Alertness, which really is nice and keeps me abreast of what¡¯s happening in a fight, and Subtle Step, which is all about insidious positioning. Alas, I¡¯ve only Ascended to my first Throne, so I can¡¯t use any of them concurrently or for long.¡±

    ¡°That,¡± said Nessa, ¡°is because you¡¯ve spent all your scales on whores, drugs, and booze.¡±

    ¡°And what a glorious life I¡¯ve led.¡± Vic shrugged, unabashed. ¡°Nessa? Time to pull up your skirt.¡±

    She clucked her tongue at him in annoyance. ¡°Must you always be so crude? I have the same number of Actives and Passive¡¯s as Vic, much is my shame. Actives I have Dance of the Zephyr, which allows me to strike multiple targets in quick succession and from unpredictable angles; Echoing Strike, which unleashes that white lighting flash that leaps to additional enemies, weakening them all; and Will of the Blade, which allows me to exert my influence across the battlefield, helping allies coordinate their attacks and enhancing group tactics.¡±

    ¡°Very nice,¡± said Vic, miming applause.

    Nessa sighed. ¡°For passives I have Blade¡¯s Grace, which allows me to effortlessly parry most incoming attacks of a certain caliber or lower, and often offers me the chance to riposte. Harmonic Resonance, which increases my allies¡¯ morale and combat effectiveness though my example in combat, and Veil of Aether, which weaves a subtle aura of protection around me, dampening the severity of blows that get through my guard. Satisfied?¡±

    ¡°Most impressive,¡± said Sam with a forced smile, sitting back.

    ¡°Well then. We¡¯ve shown you ours,¡± prompted Vic staring at Harald.

    ¡°Sure. Well, I¡¯ll start with my class.¡± And he told them in as factual and succinct a manner as possible. Abyssal Initiate, Abyssal Attunement, and Aura of the Aching Depths.

    Vic let out a low whistle. ¡°Abyssal Initiate? Harry-boy, that sounds dangerous. And to be clear, I mean that sounds dangerous to you.¡±

    Harald raised his wine glass. ¡°I¡¯ve done all right so far.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m glad I agreed to stay,¡± said Nessa. ¡°I can¡¯t wait to test you in the morning.¡±

    ¡°Why wait?¡± asked Harald. ¡°We could go downstairs now.¡±

    ¡°Because I¡¯m exhausted,¡± said Nessa. ¡°And would hate to accidentally cut your head off because I was yawning.¡±

    ¡°Fair,¡± said Harald. The wine was both warming him and making him feel deliciously fuzzy; probably not a good idea to practice now. ¡°But I¡¯ll welcome the opportunity.¡±

    ¡°Harald,¡± began Vic, watching him with lidded eyes. ¡°You¡¯re¡­ I don¡¯t think you quite appreciate the magnitude of what¡¯s happened to you.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s what I was telling Sam.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m serious, darling. A Divine ranked Soul. The interest of demons and angels. A class so rare I¡¯ve never even heard of it. Nessa?¡±

    She shook her head.

    ¡°And during your first serious venture into the dungeon you somehow acquire an Artifact and ascend to your first Throne.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m aware,¡± hedged Harald.

    ¡°He¡¯s aware,¡± Vic told Nessa. ¡°I guess I need say no more.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s your point, Vic? And may I point out, Sam¡¯s rank is Divine as well, and her Netherwarden Knight class is just as impressive if not more so than mine.¡±

    ¡°True.¡± Vic winked at Sam. ¡°Well done, darling. But my point is this: the Mining Consortium took note of your gain in scales when you emerged. That alone will draw interest when the next Gazette is published. But even if you avoid their notice for a while longer, you will have to use your full abilities to defeat Yeoric. Which will blow the barn doors clear off any attempt to remain anonymous.¡±

    ¡°Like I said before.¡± Harald fought to keep his tone level. ¡°My father was a neutral player. I¡¯ll do the same.¡±

    ¡°And as I replied, your father was able to throw a lot more wealth and weight around. You¡¯ve signaled a meteoric start to your career, but are broke, dear boy, and have only had a few weeks training. You¡¯ll be seen as a juicy snack, and when it comes to such amuse-bouches, the main houses are always salivating.¡±

    Nessa stirred, dragging her gaze from the flames. ¡°What¡¯s Vic is trying to tell you is that first you¡¯ll be invited to join, and then you¡¯ll be coerced, and then they¡¯ll attempt to kill you.¡±

    ¡°Kill him?¡± Sam stared. ¡°Are you mad?¡±

    ¡°Possibly. But yes. Rising stars are dangerous weapons in the making. The houses will either sake to claim your lethality, or ensure that others can¡¯t use you against them. Especially if word ever gets out about your unique class and just how quickly you¡¯ve grown in power.¡±

    Harald considered, swirling the wine around his glass. ¡°Is it worth losing to Yeoric, then?¡±

    ¡°No, Harry-boy, I¡¯m afraid not.¡± Vic sighed. ¡°First, Countess Sonora would be less than pleased, I would be in trouble, and you would find yourself not just losing your wealth but being forced into indentured servitude until you could pay off your debt to her, which, given the interest rates, would be never. Second, to what end? You can¡¯t avoid the spotlight forever. Each time you enter the dungeon they¡¯ll register your growth. Unless you mean to enter by means of the Iron Gate each time from now on?¡±

    Harald considered.

    ¡°Harry, don¡¯t be stupid,¡± said Vic. ¡°The 1st Level?¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± sighed Harald. ¡°So what do you advise?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not quite sure.¡± Vic tapped his lips. ¡°The best defense is an offense. You might single out a house in advance, and approach them first with your own terms.¡±

    Sam frowned. ¡°You¡¯re saying we¡¯ve no hopes of remaining independent?¡±

    ¡°Oh, you can definitely try. But eventually you¡¯ll be dodging bruisers intent on showing you the folly of your ways, or straight-up assassination attempts. The moment you firmly turn down Thornvale, say, or Celestara, they¡¯ll decide to remove you from the board altogether instead of risking your growing into a dangerous asset for a rival.¡±

    ¡°Great,¡± said Harald.

    Vic spread his arms. ¡°It¡¯s Flutic, darling! A cesspit of politics and power, wealth and corruption! Where the greatest lineages and oldest bloodlines vie for scraps in the shadows of our city¡¯s former glory. Ambition is the true coin of the realm, not scales; everyone is either useful or an obstacle, every political appointment a stepping stone to something grander, and the moment you cease plotting and manuevering you¡¯re dead. Love it or leave it, you can¡¯t pretend that our metropolis is anything but what it is.¡±

    ¡°And Countess Sonora?¡± asked Harald.

    Vic subsided. ¡°Countess Sonora. A precious rose amidst a hundred thorns.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s hardly harmless,¡± said Nessa.

    ¡°Oh, she can defend herself. But hers is a middling house, her rank that of a countess. She¡¯s bows her head to Sir Gavriel Draken, lord of House Drakenhart. She can no more shield you from house politics than I can.¡±

    ¡°Well.¡± Nessa turned to consider Vic. ¡°She could if Harald joined House Sonora.¡±

    ¡°Well, yes, obviously, but¡­ hmm.¡± Vic considered. ¡°House Darrowdelve will be dissolved once you lose your manor, for then you¡¯ll have absolutely no ability to pretend to be of knightly station. Would you consider joining House Sonora?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve no idea, and no urge to do so,¡± said Harald.

    ¡°What would be the benefit if we did?¡± cut in Sam.

    ¡°The benefit? Well, this is all assuming Countess Sonora would even agree to take you in. Most likely she¡¯d have you join my little party in an official capacity.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s too hot for our group,¡± said Nessa. ¡°We¡¯ve been at this for years, and none of us have ever Ascended to our second Throne. I¡¯m a Bladeweaver, which is rare, you¡¯re a Rapier Regent, which is all right, but them?¡± Nessa shook her head. ¡°They¡¯re too unique to just be part of our murderous little clique. The other Houses would intervene.¡±

    ¡°Fair,¡± mused Vic. ¡°Well, say she does accept your petition and makes you part of House Sonora. Of course that would come with steep obligations, and a loss of independence. You¡¯d be serving her interests, because her interests would then be your interests. You¡¯d fight for her, raid for her, and defend her against her many enemies.¡±

    ¡°In exchange?¡± prompted Sam impatiently.

    ¡°In exchange, you¡¯d be insulated from the other main houses, though no doubt they¡¯d try to poach you. But nothing overt, and if you declined, they¡¯d simply leave you alone, because indirectly you¡¯d have thrown in with Drakenhart. You¡¯d be protected.¡±

    ¡°Protected.¡± Harald rubbed at his jaw. ¡°But bound.¡±

    ¡°Ah yes. There¡¯s no escaping that. It¡¯s your conundrum, darling. You¡¯re too weak to stand alone, but too promising to be left alone. You¡¯ll simply have to pick your poison.¡±

    ¡°I see.¡± Harald frowned. ¡°Well, I don¡¯t have to pick it yet. I¡¯ve some time before I have to crush Yeoric.¡±

    ¡°True enough.¡± Vic finished his glass and rose lithely to refill it. ¡°But perhaps we could effect an introduction between you and the delightful Countess. I dare say you¡¯d find her to your liking, Harald. Beautiful, young, fierce, and oppressed on all sides by wicked old men.¡±

    Nessa snorted.

    ¡°What?¡± Vic poured the last of the wine into his glass then peered into the bottle dolefully. ¡°Any more where this came from?¡± Harald shook his head, causing Vic to sigh dolorously. ¡°But have I not described her accurately? She¡¯s gorgeous, is our Countess Sonora. If you like the freckled, haughty, would-rather-die-than-admit-defeat kind of woman.¡±

    ¡°An introduction would be smart,¡± said Harald. ¡°For Sam and I.¡±

    ¡°Agreed,¡± said Sam. ¡°I¡¯d like to meet her.¡±

    ¡°Well, she¡¯s going to be at your auction early next week. She¡¯s taken an interest in your estate, seeing as she¡¯s wagered a substantial sum on your fate. Were you planning to attend?¡±

    ¡°I wasn¡¯t,¡± said Harald. ¡°I was hoping you could handle that for me. But if she¡¯s going to be there, then yes. I could go.¡±

    ¡°Could go,¡± drawled Vic. ¡°What a sacrifice.¡±

    ¡°In the meantime I¡¯ve a mind to continue training, and would like to hit the dungeon again. But a little deeper. The ashen walkers don¡¯t render enough scales and aren¡¯t much of a challenge.¡±

    Vic looked over to Nessa. ¡°He¡¯s all grown up, darling. We did such a fine job with him.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s only saying that because he has no idea what he¡¯s talking about,¡± said Nessa, rising to her feet. ¡°But tomorrow I¡¯ll give you a real lesson, Harald. It¡¯s time you had a genuine reality check as to where you¡¯re at.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve got an Active and a Passive now,¡± he protested. ¡°And an Artifact.¡±

    ¡°Which will mean fuck-all if you run into something with half a brain.¡± Nessa drained her glass and set it down, then smiled sweetly. ¡°Of course, you could prove me wrong. There¡¯s just one way to find out, isn¡¯t there? Good night, all.¡±

    And she strode from the parlor.

    ¡°Uh oh,¡± said Vic. He glanced to Harald. ¡°I¡¯m afraid she¡¯s more upset at you than I realized. Tomorrow is liable to be very painful.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll see.¡± Harald frowned at the empty doorway, then turned back to the flames. Thought of the ten ashen walkers, of his victories in the dungeon. ¡°It¡¯s entirely possible she might be the one in for a surprise, not me.¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± said Vic, and then smiled broadly. ¡°Someone wake me up early for once. This I cannot miss.¡±

 Chapter 38

    Harald woke just before Sixth Bell, ready and alert and unable to stay in bed. Refreshed, he got up, cracked open his door, and peered out into the dark hallway.

    Silence. Darkness.

    Time for a quick run, then.

    He quickly donned his exercise gear, smirking as he was forced to use a higher notch for his belt. Looked like he¡¯d lost a little more weight.

    That caused him to turn to his full length mirror before donning his tunic. In the dim scale-lantern light that he¡¯d set by his bed, he examined his physique.

    Once he¡¯d been a shambling, doughy mass of a man, sloop shouldered and hunched, his belly pushing over his belt, pale and soft.

    The man in the mirror stared back, gaze steady, shoulders squared, hands on his hips. It wasn¡¯t that he¡¯d become a mass of muscle, the fat hadn¡¯t melted off his frame, but there was no mistaking the difference.

    There was actual muscle layered over his chest. His shoulders were broader. His gut had receded, though there was still an inch of softness over his abdominal wall. At a distance he¡¯d appear the same, but up close?

    He could see what Vic had been going on about. What Sam had hinted at. In just under a month he¡¯d effected a striking change. If the old him and had met the new him in a dark alleyway, he¡¯d have backed out with nervous apologies.

    But enough of that.

    Harald pulled on his tunic and leather running shoes, and slipped out into the hallway. Sam was walking toward him, yawning and rubbing at her eyes, already geared up.

    ¡°Oh, you¡¯re awake.¡± She blinked owlishly at him. ¡°Why does it feel like weeks since our last run?¡±

    ¡°Dungeon time,¡± was all he said, and clapped her on the shoulder as he passed her to head for the stairs.

    Down and out the front door, into the now familiar pre-dawn gloom. Flutic seemed stunned beyond his garden walls, slumbering and awaiting the mad activity of the day. Harald bounced a few times on the balls of his feet, swung his arms in some huggers, then caught Sam¡¯s eye, nodded, and set off at a jog.

    Constitution 12 was his highest stat. It was more than double what he¡¯d spent most his young adult life with, and the recent boost from his class had made an immense difference, lifting from the standard 9 to a raider-level 12.

    He felt light on his feet, the warm-up jog easy, his gait springy. Down Baldric Avenue, nodding to a guard patrol that recognized them from their routine run, and then the turn to Season Park.

    Mist blanketed the greenery. They got onto the circuit path, and Harald had to restrain the urge to put on speed right away.

    Sam was as lithe as ever by his side, but this time Harald didn¡¯t have to strain during their first lap to keep up. He ran steadily, easily, his body loose and limber, his mass no longer hampering him, dragging him down, straining his ankles and knees.

    It felt good.

    It felt more than good.

    They rounded the final curve and their entrance arch came into sight. Sam glanced curiously at him.

    This was normally where she left him in her dust. As always, she picked up the pace, lengthening her stride.

    Harald restrained a grin and did the same.

    He felt warmed up, his muscles liquid and loose. His breath was coming easily, and he¡¯d barely broken a sweat.

    Sam arched an eyebrow at him, gave a grudging smile, and slowly increased the tempo of their run.

    Silence but for the steady beat of their footsteps. Harald inhaled deeply, feel his ribs expand powerfully, and kept up.

    On they ran, and sooner than he thought possible they¡¯d finished their second lap. They were running fast now, a mile-eating stride, Sam fleet as a deer, and he a lion by her side, loping along powerfully.

    A fire was burning within him. A predatory urge to compete.

    So now it was his turn to push.

    Harald went faster, and Sam laughed as she fell behind then surged up to run abreast and then leave him behind in turn.

    Harald grinned with savage exultation.

    How was he doing this? He felt swept along by the breeze. Memories of gasping, sweating, puking came back, but he raced clear through them and caught up with Sam.

    Constitution 12. Nothing mind-blowingly spectacular, but close to the upper echelons of peak human condition. The very best runners might reach a 14, and beyond that lay the realm of supernatural augmentation due to raiding.

    For awhile they simply ran around the track, lapping all the runners who used to gaze pityingly at Harald as they passed him by.

    Sam¡¯s expression turned serious as she focused on her breathing. She still ran with graceful form, but her arms were pumping, her brow glistening with sweat, her braided ponytail jerking back and forth.

    The fourth lap.

    Harald started to feel the strain.

    But he couldn¡¯t back down. Couldn¡¯t relinquish the rush. They weren¡¯t sprinting, just pushing themselves hard, but now he could feel a stitch coming on. Sweat ran between his shoulder blades, into his eyes.

    His breathing was becoming tight.

    On they ran, the entrance coming back into sight. The fifth lap. That would put them at just under five miles at this punishing pace.

    Harald laughed, slowed, raised his hands. ¡°Enough! I can¡¯t keep up with you!¡±

    At which point Sam also slowed, hands on her hips, head hanging as she strode ahead of him, breathing deeply. For a while they simply paced, and then she glanced up at him, grinning. ¡°Damn, Harald. Where did that come from?¡±

    ¡°Constitution 12.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve matched me.¡± She took a deep breath and wiped her brow. ¡°I¡¯m at 12 as well. Looks like my days of lapping you are over.¡±

    ¡°Come on, Netherwarden Knight,¡± he said, accelerating into a jog and lightly tapping her shoulder as he passed her. ¡°Keep up.¡±

    They took the next four laps at a slow jog, just eating the miles, and finally called it a day when the dawn had truly broke and the path started to become crowded with walkers and nannies pushing prams.

    Soaked with sweat, but deeply satisfied, Harald walked back to the manor with Sam, neither feeling the need to talk. The fibers in his thighs were shivering, and he felt loose and jangly.

    ¡°If you keep growing at this rate,¡± began Sam, but he held up a hand, cutting her off.

    ¡°It won¡¯t happen. It can¡¯t. It¡¯s one thing to rise from Constitution 6, but to continue burning up the ranks at 12? You¡¯ll see. I¡¯m sure it¡¯ll slow.¡±

    ¡°Hmm.¡± She sounded unconvinced. ¡°Guess we¡¯ll find out.¡±

    When they returned to the manor it was to discover Vic rushing to and fro from the kitchen to the back patio, where he was laying out a sumptuous breakfast for one. Scrambled eggs, bacon, a carafe of juice, lumpen pancakes, it was a veritable feast.

    ¡°Oh Vic,¡± said Sam dryly. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t have. I¡¯m flattered.¡±

    ¡°Hmm?¡± Vic glanced at her brightly in confusion. ¡°Oh! Darling. You little joker. This is for me. I want a front row seat to the morning¡¯s training session. Harald, I can¡¯t find any of the bubbly anywhere. Have you got any stashed away?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± said Harald, wiping at his face with a kitchen towel.

    ¡°How disappointing. I hate drinking unadulterated juice. Well, eat something light. Nessa¡¯s been warming up down below.¡±

    ¡°She has?¡± Harald glanced at Sam. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ new.¡±

    ¡°Oh, she¡¯s taking this morning¡¯s training session very seriously. It¡¯s a pity you used up all that energy running. You¡¯re going to need it. Oh! The toast!¡±

    Vic dashed away.

    Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

    Sam frowned after him. ¡°She¡¯d best not use this as an opportunity to punish you for disappointing her.¡±

    ¡°I think that¡¯s precisely what she¡¯s going to do.¡± He considered, then smiled. ¡°Or try. C¡¯mon. Let¡¯s grab a bite and catch our breath before she comes up.¡±

    Nessa emerged onto the patio just as Eighth Bell rang. She wore a black dueling shirt, tight around the waist, with puffy shoulders and leather straps binding the sleeves from the elbows down to her gloves. Her leggings were incredibly distracting, made of skin-tight gray wool as they were, and disappeared into knee-high black leather boots. Her mass of blue-black curls were tightly braided and coiled up on the crown of her head, where she¡¯d affixed them in place with two artfully inserted pins, and a slight flush had risen to her cheeks from her exertions below.

    She looked vibrant, focused, gorgeous, and absolutely deadly.

    ¡°Good morning Sam. Harald.¡± Her tone was carefully neutral. ¡°Ready to begin?¡±

    ¡°Ready,¡± said Harald, rising from his chair. He¡¯d limited himself to a small plate of toast and eggs, washed down with cold well water. Not enough to sicken him if he pushed hard. ¡°Live steel? Wooden blades?¡±

    Nessa dropped her long bag at the top of the patio steps. ¡°Let¡¯s start with practice blades. Choose one to your liking.¡±

    And then she flashed a dangerous smile and descended to the wild grass below.

    ¡°Oh my goodness,¡± said Vic, pouring himself a glass of wine. ¡°Oh my goodness, this is going to be absolutely awful in the very best possible way. My dear friends. My poor, dear friends.¡±

    ¡°Shush,¡± said Sam, crouching by the bag and drawing forth a wooden longsword. She tested its heft then tossed it up to Harald. ¡°Keep your crowing to a minimum.¡±

    ¡°I absolutely shant,¡± said Vic, putting his slippered feet up on the next seat. ¡°I shall call forth the most uniquely unhelpful advice I can think of, and chortle as loudly as is humanly possible. What an absolute treat.¡±

    Harald gripped the practice blade with both hands, frowned up its dark wooden length, and then gave a couple of experimental slashes. It was weighted with a thin core of lead that gave it the same balance and heft as a live blade, but the edges and tip were dull.

    Still.

    A solid hit could snap an arm.

    Sam chose her own sword and stood. Her golden braid hung down over her shoulder, and a natural flush remained on her cheeks from their run before. ¡°Ready?¡±

    Harald nodded and descended to the garden. Nessa awaited them, wooden blade propped over her shoulder, weight on one foot, the other hip jutting out.

    ¡°Good morning, students.¡± Her tone was bright and cheerful. ¡°We¡¯ll begin today¡¯s class by exploring what your new classes  allows you to do. We¡¯ll begin with some friendly one-on-one sparring. You don¡¯t know enough yet to dampen your passives, but see if you can avoid leaning on them too much. Then, at my signal, we¡¯ll bring our Actives to the table and see where that takes us. Sound good?¡±

    ¡°Sure,¡± said Harald warily. He¡¯d almost have preferred her cold and furious. This cheerful, almost perky Nessa was far more unnerving.

    ¡°Don¡¯t kill them, darling!¡± shouted Vic. ¡°But if you must, can you remember my line of sight? Try not to block it.¡±

    Nessa ignored him. ¡°Sam?¡±

    Sam cracked her neck on either side and moved to stand across from Nessa. She settled into the combat stance, and opted for the Plow Guard, hilt at her back hip, blade pointed at Nessa¡¯s face.

    ¡°We¡¯ll start slow,¡± said Nessa, ¡°and pick up the tempo as we go.¡± She raised her blade to the Ox Guard, hilt by her temple, sword level and pointing straight at Sam¡¯s face. ¡°Come at me.¡±

    Sam moved forward cautiously, and when she entered striking range she thrust her sword forth and stepped out to the side.

    Harald half-expected Nessa to demolish her right there and then, but instead the Bladeweaver simply parried and struck back slowly.

    For awhile the two women moved around each other, exchanging blows, the taps almost friendly, Nessa testing Sam¡¯s guard high and low, side to side.

    Sam did well at this reduced speed. She kept her stance, never over-extended, always returned to a guard, flowing to whatever felt most appropriate. It wasn¡¯t flawless by any means; there were obvious moments when Sam changed her mind, switching guards at the last second or quickly hopping her feet into a different stance, but for the most part she did well.

    ¡°Shall we pick it up?¡± Nessa¡¯s smile grew cold as she advanced.

    Her blows began to come faster, with greater surety and precision.

    Sam quickly gave up on ripostes and striking back, and began to give ground. Her parries grew more desperate, her footwork falling apart, her attempt to flow back into different stances abandoned as she just held the blade before her, ready to parry or leap away from the next attack.

    But there was no getting away from Nessa. She advanced inexorably, and the variety of her attacks seemed endless. Overhand or swinging from below, slices and thrusts, testing every aspect of Sam¡¯s defenses.

    And still it was obvious Nessa wasn¡¯t pushing herself.

    The first blow to get through rapped Sam on the shoulder, hard, drawing a grunt from the Netherwarden Knight. Who leaped back, grimacing, but Nessa came after. A second later her thrust got through and poked into Sam¡¯s gut, followed immediately by a second rap to the thigh.

    Sam hissed and brought her sword up again, brows lowering.

    ¡°Keep up, Sam,¡± said Nessa tightly, pressing the attack once more.

    Again and again she pierced Sam¡¯s guard. There were moments of sophisticated manipulation each time their swords entered the bind, Nessa¡¯s own blade rolling over Sam¡¯s to thrust or giving way and guiding Sam¡¯s to the side to come back in a slash.

    Sam grunted and hissed as blow after blow landed, until with a bark of frustration she struck at Nessa¡¯s sword, smacking it aside, and darted in with an overhead chop of her own.

    Only for Nessa to sway aside and step past her, tripping her neatly in the process and sending Sam sprawling.

    ¡°Well, that wasn¡¯t very impressive,¡± said Nessa. ¡°How about you try your Active?¡±

    Sam remained on all fours for a second, then pushed herself up and trapped her blade between her thighs as she pulled off her loose training blouse. Beneath it she wore a slate blue chest wrap, tightly wound, and only then did Harald get to take in the sculpted nature of her physique.

    Her abdominal wall was chiseled, her arms lean and muscled, her deltoids pronounced. Her golden skin was bright with sweat, though red patches showed where she¡¯d taken her blows.

    ¡°All right, Nessa.¡± Sam raised her blade and entered the Tower Stance, her blue eyes almost sparking with the intensity of her anger. ¡°Let¡¯s try that again.¡±

    Nessa arched one dark brow, amused, and raised her own blade.

    Harald bit his lower lip, willing Sam to land a blow.

    They engaged once more, but now Sam deployed her Active, Shield of Valor. It appeared by her side, a gorgeous silver kite shield, its face inlaid with complex patterning.

    Sam pressed the attack. She glided forward, unleashing an overhead chop, then flowing into what Harald recognized as the Dungeon Square, her shield dancing around her blows, moving in rhythm to her attacks.

    Nessa gave ground, parrying adroitly, and for a moment Harald dared hope the shield was making a difference.

    But no.

    Nessa was merely taking Sam¡¯s measure. She gave ground for a dozen steps, then, with an imperceptible nod, went on the attack.

    Sam¡¯s next strike was deflected, and then Nessa grasped the top of the shield, yanked it aside, and chopped her blade down on Sam¡¯s shoulder.

    Sam let out a cry and leaped back, rolling the shoulder angrily as she brought her sword back up.

    But Nessa didn¡¯t let her be. She came after her, flowing faster than ever, her blade leaping forth like a snake¡¯s tongue. The shield definitely helped; it curtailed what Nessa could do, but each time Sam grew even slightly distracted, Nessa would simply yank the shield aside, once even using her crossguard to do so.

    Blow after blow slid past Sam¡¯s guard, till at last she let out a coughing gasp and dropped to one knee, completely winded.

    ¡°Enough.¡± Nessa put up her sword. ¡°It¡¯s as I feared. Put your shirt on, Sam. Your physique isn¡¯t the distraction you¡¯d hoped.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not¡­¡± Sam¡¯s face darkened with frustration and anger, but then she mastered herself and stood, bowed her head, and retreated on stiff legs to the steps.

    Nessa hadn¡¯t even broken a sweat. ¡°Harald?¡±

    He didn¡¯t bother offering Sam words of comfort. Angry as she was, they¡¯d only piss her off more. So instead he hefted his wooden blade and moved to take Sam¡¯s place.

    Nessa eyed him dispassionately, her gray stare cold and hard. ¡°Ready for the warm-up?¡±

    There was real anger there, he saw.

    This wasn¡¯t going to go well.

    Still, he raised his blade and entered the combat stance. Shoulders back, chest out, grip tight but not throttling. He made a conscious effort to keep the Aura of the Aching Depths down, to not let its power seep out into the air.

    ¡°Whenever you¡¯re ready,¡± said Nessa.

    What should his approach be? Was there any point in trying for different tactics? Realistically there was nothing he could do to surprise her.

    Unless he pretended to be worse than he really was?

    But she¡¯d trained him for over a whole week, hours at a time. She¡¯d immediately recognize if he was holding back, or play acting.

    Harald took a deep breath, blew it out, and advanced.

    He¡¯d simply do his best.

    She parried his first blow, his second. For awhile they simply moved as she and Sam had done at first, circling, exchanging blows, all of Nessa¡¯s strikes coming slowly, working his quarters, giving him time to adapt, to build up a rhythm, a sense of confidence.

    ¡°The thing about beginning sword fighters,¡± said Nessa calmly, almost as if they were discussing the matter over tea, ¡°is that their minds leap for the guards, the strikes, the patterns that they have been taught. As if each were a stepping stone in a raging river. They hop from one to the next, seeking safety in what they¡¯ve practiced, what they¡¯ve trained. The Tower Guard. The Roof. The Plow. The Ox. Each a refuge you run to and then hide behind.¡±

    Their swords clacked one last time and then she stepped back with a smile. ¡°Shall we pick up the tempo?¡±

    Still Harald didn¡¯t speak, but simply nodded as he entered the Tower once more.

    ¡°Very good.¡± She advanced, and at first her blows were as measured and slow as the others. ¡°But what you don¡¯t realize is that these stepping stones you hop between are illusions. They¡¯re not harbors in which you can hide from the storm.¡±

    Her strikes began to come just a little faster, each as fluid as the last. Harald kept his gaze on her shoulders, her forearms, her hilt. The pattern became erratic now, no longer flowing neatly from one quadrant to the next. Twice from above, then an scything upswing from below. He leaped back, and then again.

    Nessa¡¯s glare was hard, unyielding, cold as iron buried in ice. ¡°There are no stepping stones. There are no safe harbors.¡±

    He parried her blow, but before he could even think to read their bind her sword swirled around his, supple and sure, and stabbed into his shoulder, driving him back.

    ¡°There is only the raging river.¡±

    She came after him, and he parried two strikes before she rapped him hard against the ribs. He stumbled back, caught himself, entered the Plow, tried to circle.

    Nessa came after him, furious, eyes flashing, blade darting out. She feinted and then cut back into the hole in his guard to chop his upper arm, hard. Before he could react she swung her blade around wide and slammed it into his opposite thigh, causing the large muscle to snarl up in pain.

    ¡°There is only the storm, Harald. It¡¯s from there that you must fight. Its that fury you must channel. But you have no idea what I¡¯m taking about, do you?¡±

    ¡°Watch out!¡± hollered Vic. ¡°She¡¯s getting nasty!¡±

    Nessa advanced and demolished him. His blade was a reed in the storm, battered about, useless. In a matter of seconds she dropped him expertly to the ground, his sword flying from his hand, blows landing on his wrist, his forearm, his ribs, his shin, then finally cracking against his temple.

    Harald crashed to the ground and lay there blinking.

    Nessa put up her sword, her expression dispassionate. ¡°My apologies. Did I go too hard?¡±

    ¡°No.¡± Harald wiped his hand over his face and then sat up, wincing. For a moment he just stared at her, catching his breath, letting the sharpest of the pains grow dull. ¡°I was just warming up. I think I¡¯m ready now for a real lesson.¡±

    He took up his sword and rose. Inhaled deeply, and sought the power of his Ascended Throne, poured is glittering energy into the Aura of the Aching Depths, and allowed the cold majesty of his Passive to push out around him. Sounds grew muffled, the sky inky, and he felt himself the heart of the very abyss.

    Nessa clearly was feeling his power. Her eyes narrowed, her jaw tightened, and her grip grew white-knuckled on her blade.

    ¡°Ready, instructor?¡± He slowly lowered into the Plow, the tip of his blade aimed at her face. ¡°Then let¡¯s go.¡±

 Chapter 39

    The Aura of the Aching Depths expanded from Harald¡¯s core. The air around him grew subtly shadowed, sound growing muffled, the temperature dropping. Harald felt his Throne of Harmony pouring its strength into the Passive, fueling its enervating expansion, and saw the moment his aura washed over Nessa.

    Her reaction was subtle.

    He¡¯d have missed it if he weren¡¯t watching carefully.

    Her knuckles whitened on the hilt of her practice blade, her eyes narrowed a fraction, and then she parted her pursed lips to slowly run the tip of her tongue over the lower one, as if deliberating a new approach.

    Harald steadied his breathing. He couldn¡¯t rely overmuch on the Aching Depths. It would blunt Nessa¡¯s edge, perhaps even bring hesitancy to her mind, but not make her lose track of her skills and training.

    With great deliberation he channeled Abyssal Attunement into his practice blade. He felt the potential of the abyss race down its length, turning the dark wood an absolute black. Felt the power shimmer faintly over him, enhancing his presence subtly, combining with the unease his Aching Depths brought.

    Nessa considered, then gave a slight nod and entered a stance of her own.

    And to his annoyance she raised a hand and gestured for him to attack.

    Harald glided forward, keeping his footwork clear and steady. He needed but to land a single blow for the Attunement to begin the process of enhancing him at Nessa¡¯s cost.

    One blow.

    At the last moment she surprised him by lunging forward, point spearing toward his sternum. Harald parried on instinct and stepped out to the left, just as Nessa¡¯s feint became a downward strike that swooshed obliquely past him to the right.

    And then it was on.

    Harald pressed as fiercely as he could.

    The Aching Depths made it feel as if they fought underwater, the air thick and cold, the shadows writhing around him, limiting him not at all but imbuing him with a fearsome ability.

    Their blades cracked together three times and then she smacked him across the arm, a blow that would have lopped off his wrist.

    But Harald ignored the pain and kept pressing. He fell into the familiar sequence of strikes, coming at her from all sides, and then to his chagrin Nessa laughed.

    ¡°The Dungeon Square?¡± She fended him off with ease, anticipating each strike. ¡°What is this, Harald, a playground?¡±

    And she slid into his next attack to slam the tip of her blade solidly into his gut.

    Harald grunted. The urge to leap back, to reform his guard, to re-evaluate was strong, overwhelming. The pain was sharp, his breath knocked out from him.

    But he manifested his will, put that instinct aside, and brought his blade crashing down in a massive overhead strike.

    Not a feint, because he meant to hit, but he knew she¡¯d sway aside.

    Nessa bowed back, allowing his abyss-kissed blade to skim past her, missing by an inch.

    Harald kept coming though, and with all his strength slammed his shoulder into her own.

    She¡¯d never have fallen for it without the Aching Depths dulling her wits.

    Shocked, Nessa stumbled back, blade flickering up, blocking strike after strike with impossible flair. Blade¡¯s Grace, her own Passive? It had to be; she parried two rapid strikes even as she fought to not collapse to the ground.

    But then she changed her plan, dropped to one knee, and somehow wrested her blade around to slam it into his own cross-parry.

    For a moment Harald loomed over her, trying to drive his full weight into her upraised blow, but then she slipped away, all resistance melting, and he stumbled forward as she rose to his side and brought her sword around and cracked it across his back.

    Harald grunted, wheeled around, and now he was on the defensive.

    Even with Aura of the Aching Depths draining the light and exerting its enervating influence on the air around them he couldn¡¯t keep her at bay.

    Nessa¡¯s expression was livid.

    She hammered at him, and one in three blows got through, slashing down his chest, cracking against his knuckles, spearing into his shoulder, slamming into his knee.

    Harald ignored the pain, fought on, grunting and shifting his weight, parrying and fighting to not become completely overwhelmed.

    One touch.

    He just needed to get one touch through.

    But he couldn¡¯t do it.

    Again and again he slipped into the Dungeon Square, the series of blows that had served him so well in the actual dungeon, that had cut down mindless ashen walker after ashen walker.

    Nessa punished him for the predictability of his technique.

    At last, gasping for breath, reeling, his guard was blasted wide open by a crossblow. He could only watch as Nessa¡¯s sword blurred.

    She¡¯d been striking at him so quickly.

    But now he lost track of it altogether.

    In less than a second she executed a series of rapid, flowing movements that struck him on each quadrant almost simultaneously. Harald simply collapsed, falling back to the grass to lie on his back, gasping and staring up at the sky, blinking away sweat and fighting the aching pain.

    For a moment nobody spoke.

    Then somebody began to applaud with wry appreciation.

    Harald guessed it wasn¡¯t Sam.

    ¡°Bravo!¡± Vic¡¯s voice was sardonic with false cheer. ¡°Never have I seen children handled with greater severity. Though was I imagining things, or did Harry-boy cause you to lose your composure there, Nessa? Hmm?¡±

    Sam appeared over him, her expression grim, and extended her hand. ¡°Well done.¡±

    He took it, allowed her to haul him up to sitting.

    Everything ached or stung.

    Vic was stepping down onto the grass, glass of wine and a pastry in hand.

    Nessa was frowning at him, chin lowered.

    ¡°Now, from where I was seated, it seemed as if he pressed you surprisingly hard.¡± Vic beamed at Harald. ¡°The air went all dark and spooky, and suddenly you were on your heels, Nessa. Oh wait. Did you actually drop to one knee?¡±

    ¡°He never landed a blow,¡± snapped Nessa. ¡°He signaled his every attack, often by pointing at me with his elbow. His reliance on the Dungeon Square is as stubborn as it is stupid, and what little edge he had came as a result of his new Abilities, not any skill.¡±

    ¡°Oh, for sure, absolutely.¡± Vic took a bite of his pastry and washed it down with some wine. ¡°But I can¡¯t help but notice you didn¡¯t answer my question, darling.¡±

    Harald was still panting, but he raised one brow as he looked back to Nessa.

    Who met his look and flushed. ¡°He did surprise me there for a second, yes.¡±

    ¡°I knew it!¡± Vic bent his knees as he leaned back, raising his glass the skies. ¡°Ladies and gentlemen, we have a killer on our hands! A veritable monster! Well.¡± He straightened. ¡°The makings of one. Darling, admit it. He did quite well given how little training he¡¯s had.¡±

    Nessa raised her chin, expression flinty. ¡°His Passive is formidable, I¡¯ll grant you that.¡±

    ¡°Oh, tell us about it. I saw you wilt like a flower under the midday sun. It looked dreadful. And no, I¡¯ve no desire to experience it myself.¡±

    Nessa took a deep breath and her tone and expression settled, becoming controlled and neutral once more. ¡°It¡¯s¡­ like nothing I¡¯ve felt before. I felt¡­ hesitant for no reason. As if attacking him were a profoundly unwise decision. This voice whispered in the back of my mind that I was going to lose, that to fight him would be¡­ futile.¡± She glared at Harald. ¡°Obviously that voice knew shit.¡±

    ¡°Fascinating,¡± said Vic, nodding encouragingly. ¡°Do go on.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a powerful aura,¡± snapped Nessa. ¡°It makes him look intimidating, and so forth. But it did nothing for his clumsy attacks and lack of understanding on how to duel an intelligent opponent.¡±

    ¡°That he can learn,¡± said Vic, waving his wine glass airily. ¡°Actually, that you can teach him! But still. Sam, are you equally disappointed that Harry-boy never managed to hit Nessa with that black blade of his? I know I was.¡±

    ¡°You did well,¡± said Sam, tone subdued.

    Nessa sighed reluctantly. ¡°Don¡¯t get down on yourself. Your Passive is a team-building aura. You enhance your allies. Thus it¡¯s useless when fighting alone. But in a team, like my own Harmonic Resonance or Will of the Blade, it makes everyone more lethal.¡±

    Sam nodded, glum.

    ¡°But look.¡± Nessa considered them both. ¡°This was more than just an exercise in sadism. Though.¡± And here she stared at Harald. ¡°There was definitely an element of that. This was a reality check for you both. You just accomplished a number of impressive feats, from spending a lengthy period of time in the dungeon to acquiring rare to possibly unique classes at the behest of a demon. It¡¯s natural for such accomplishments to go to your heads.¡±

    ¡°They went to mine,¡± said Vic brightly, ¡°and I wasn¡¯t even involved.¡±

    ¡°But.¡± And here Nessa fixed them with her gray stare. ¡°You¡¯re both on the verge of making the classic mistake that¡¯s killed more raiders than anything else.¡±

    Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

    Vic nodded soberly. ¡°Putting your dick in crazy.¡±

    ¡°Vic, will you please just shut up?¡±

    Vic stared in dismay at his empty wine glass. ¡°Time for a refill.¡±

    They watched him ascend to the patio.

    Nessa propped her blade over one shoulder and leaned her weight on one foot, other hand on her hip. ¡°This is what¡¯s happened since time immemorial: someone decides to make their fortune raiding. They get some armor, a shiny blade, and in all earnestness train for a month or two while they beg a more established team to take them below. Finally they make a connect, and down they go. Once, twice, thrice, and if they¡¯re lucky, if they¡¯re not torn apart by dire rats or ashen walkers, they get themselves a fancy class. A Warcleaver, say, or a Skullcrusher. Suddenly they¡¯ve got themselves an Active and a Passive, and they think they¡¯re hot shit.¡±

    Her crude final words were delivered like stabs to the chest.

    Harald pursed his lips.

    ¡°And you know what?¡± Nessa¡¯s smile was merciless. ¡°For a few quick raids, maybe they even are. The Iron levels aren¡¯t that challenging. Mostly mindless foes, predatory animals, and a few nastier things thrown in for good measure. But as soon as they drop below the 12th? They die. Because they stopped their training, they stopped doing the basic, boring work, and relied on their flashy new Abilities to get by.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve made your point,¡± said Harald.

    ¡°Have I? I could see it in your eyes last night. Excitement. Confidence. The urge to start skipping levels. To get more valuable scales at a quicker rate. Forgetting that the Dungeon Square might work against ashen walkers, but someone with half a brain?¡±

    Harald sighed and stared down at the grass. ¡°You¡¯re right.¡±

    Nessa clearly hadn¡¯t expected him to agree so quickly. She stood there, ready to argue, belligerent, but with the rug pulled out from under her.

    ¡°You¡¯re right. I killed those ten ashen walkers and thought it meant something. I got my class and thought it meant something. Vic hasn¡¯t shut up since we got back about how valuable Sam and I have become. It went to my head.¡±

    Now Harald did look up, and he met Nessa¡¯s stare with his own flat look. ¡°But you¡¯ve set me straight. When you pressed me, my form, everything went sailing right out the window.¡±

    ¡°Same,¡± said Sam reluctantly. ¡°It felt good at first, but then¡­¡±

    Nessa shifted her weight, clearly annoyed by their agreeing with her. ¡°You both have done well. I don¡¯t want to take that away from you. But you¡¯ve only trained with the blade for a little over a week or so. It¡¯s ridiculous to think you¡¯re ready to do more than raid the higher Iron levels.¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡± Harald slowly stood, wincing as everything hurt. ¡°Well, thank you for the reminder. We clearly needed it. Are you willing to keep teaching us the rest of what we don¡¯t know?¡±

    Nessa stared at him, expression inscrutable, but he could tell that deep down she was still furious, and only then did he understand why: this was meant to be payback. She¡¯d wanted to elicit the same intensity of emotion that his betrayal had caused her. To be reasonable, to be agreeable, had robbed her from feeling vindicated, or whatever she¡¯d been after.

    ¡°I don¡¯t have the next five years to do that.¡± She sniffed and looked away. ¡°But for now, yes. But we¡¯re going to amend our agreement.¡±

    ¡°How¡¯s that?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m no longer housebound. As long as I¡¯m capable of teaching your lessons, I¡¯m doing my part. Outside of that? It¡¯s none of your business what I do.¡±

    Harald wanted to protest. But he had no ground to stand on. He could see Nessa waiting for him to complain, to be a hypocrite so she could tear out his proverbial throat.

    Instead he inclined his head. ¡°As you wish, Nessa. So long as you¡¯re able to teach at the high standard you¡¯ve set.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll start tomorrow.¡± She tossed her wooden blade down beside the long bag. ¡°We¡¯re done for today. Go train with the weights below, or pester Vic for exercises. I¡¯m leaving.¡±

    Where you going to go, Nessa? The question burned on the tip of his tongue. She didn¡¯t walk past him, didn¡¯t turn away. She was waiting. Waiting for him to put his hand into the iron trap.

    So all he did was nod, hands on his hips, and wait, till at long last she inclined her head and strode back into the house.

    ¡°Well that was a disaster,¡± said Sam, moving to sit on the steps.

    Harald joined her. ¡°What aspect of it?¡±

    ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t know where to start.¡± Sam rested her chin on her thumbs, interlaced fingers before her lips. ¡°The implicit promise our instructor just made to go find more glory? The way I danced around like an idiot, my shield doing nothing for me while she spanked me like a child? Our loss of the moral high ground for having accepted favors from demons?¡±

    Harald didn¡¯t respond at once. He simply bit his lower lip and stared out morosely over the wilderness of his estate.

    ¡°We¡¯re doing our best, Sam. And we¡¯ve done pretty damn well. Nessa spoke sense. We can¡¯t get ahead of ourselves. I was thinking about accelerating our raiding schedule, of perhaps going deeper. Now I see that we can¡¯t do that without Vic and Nessa, and maybe not even at all.¡±

    ¡°You were deciding for me where we should go raid?¡±

    ¡°No, not when you put it like that. But¡­?¡± He glanced sidelong at her. ¡°I assumed you¡¯d come raiding with me if invited?¡±

    ¡°Hmm.¡± She looked away.

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Nothing.¡±

    ¡°No, seriously. What is it?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯ve got a lot on mind, I suppose. There¡¯s a lot happening. Being beaten up by Nessa so that she could prove a point helped knock open a few windows. Let the light shine in. Make me ask questions.¡±

    ¡°What kind of questions?¡±

    ¡°Private questions, for now.¡± Sam winced and stood. ¡°I¡¯m going to go stretch in my room, and then I¡¯m going to take the day off. Get out of the manor. You know, I just realized that I haven¡¯t even gone for a bloody walk since you released me from my oath?¡±

    Harald looked up at her in surprise. ¡°You haven¡¯t?¡±

    ¡°No.¡± She frowned at nothing in particular. ¡°I¡¯ve been so focused on training, on becoming the perfect little raider, on catching up on all the time I lost being a majordomo, that I just¡­ didn¡¯t think about it.¡±

    ¡°Well, you should go.¡±

    Sam stared down at him, expression hard. ¡°I don¡¯t need your permission.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Harald blinked at her in confusion. ¡°I was just agreeing with you.¡±

    For a moment they simply held each other¡¯s gaze, and then Sam shook her head, as if clearing her thoughts, and nodded. ¡°I know. Sorry. I¡¯m feeling¡­ intense. A walk will do me good. I¡¯ll be back in time for supper.¡±

    And with that she knelt by the long bag, stashed her wooden blade inside it, went to do the same with Nessa¡¯s, then stopped.

    Harald watched her, still confused.

    Sam pulled her hand back from Nessa¡¯s sword, left it lying in the grass, then rose and climbed the patio steps, passed the emerging Vic, and disappeared into the house.

    ¡°Wine!¡± Vic frowned at the bottle. ¡°Well. Raspberry cordial. I suppose it¡¯s more of a poisonous syrup, but it does feel more breakfasty, don¡¯t you agree?¡±

    Harald sighed and looked back out over the garden.

    Vic sat on the step next to him. ¡°Shall we get drunk?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re already drunk.¡±

    ¡°I was using the royal ¡®we¡¯ for you.¡±

    ¡°That¡­¡± Harald let it go and simply shook his head.

    Vic popped the cork, then poured a virulent red liquid into a cut crystal glass he¡¯d brought with him. ¡°Life. A source of endless bon mots and proverbial proverbs. Want me to console you with some old chestnuts?¡±

    ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°Hmm. I think you need it.¡± Vic sipped from his glass and grimaced. ¡°Argh. That¡¯s disgusting. Ah well.¡± He took a long gulp. ¡°Sam looked¡­ serious, on the way out.¡±

    ¡°Mmhmm.¡±

    Vic watched him for a beat. ¡°I¡¯d really rather my wisdom be solicited.¡±

    Harald dug his thumbs into his eyes and then looked at his friend. ¡°What wisdom, Vic?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s an old conundrum, that quaintest of paradoxes. You, Harry-boy, have a raging erection for your own success. Understandably so, given the squalid little dumpling you were just a month ago. But now you¡¯re getting a taste of real growth and power, and you can¡¯t get enough. Yet! You¡¯re seeking to build a cozy little family, a raiding team with which to delve into the dungeon. That would be Nessa, Sam, and myself.¡±

    ¡°I gathered,¡± said Harald dryly.

    ¡°Good. You¡¯re keeping up. But here¡¯s the rub: you can¡¯t engage so violently in auto-eroticism and expect the rest of us to tag along gamely. It¡¯s one or the other, darling. You either expand the scope of your vision so that it encompasses the rest of us, or you find yourself alone before too long and knocking on strangers¡¯ doors.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve been a team player. I invited you all into my home. I¡¯ve¡­ I¡¯ve given you business opportunities. I tried to give Nessa a chance after her glory debacle.¡±

    Vic clucked his tongue. ¡°On the surface of it, yes, to a degree. But it¡¯s all been in service to your shining star. Which is all very well and good, don¡¯t get me wrong, I¡¯m something of a devotee of selfish individualism myself. But this here, what you¡¯re trying to do, is¡­ damn it. I can¡¯t think of a sufficiently vulgar metaphor.¡±

    Harald watched his friend stonily as he refilled his glass.

    ¡°My point,¡± continued Vic, ¡°is that you need to internalize the fact that we¡¯re each of us unique individuals with glittering Cosmoses of our own. Our own dreams, ambitions, hang-ups, fears, raging drug addictions, and deeply warped sense of selves.¡±

    ¡°I know that, Vic.¡±

    ¡°But that¡¯s the thing.¡± Vic poked him in the chest. ¡°You don¡¯t. Not deep down in there. Tell me. Why did Sam storm off like that?¡±

    ¡°She was going for a walk.¡±

    Vic raised an eyebrow.

    ¡°A walk in the city,¡± Harald elaborated reluctantly. ¡°To take time for herself. Which she said she hadn¡¯t done since being freed from her oath.¡±

    ¡°Ah,¡± said Vic. ¡°Lovely. I was waiting for this.¡±

    ¡°You were?¡±

    ¡°Of course! The delicious tart has been washing your floors and bleaching your underwear for as long as I¡¯ve known you. An oathbound! And then you free her, which I¡¯m sure you did in a manner that took her sensibilities into account¡ªright?¡±

    Harald winced.

    ¡°And enlisted her right into your training. Which she obviously has a taste for, and ambitions of her own, but did you pause, did you ask yourself: is this healthy for brave Samantha Tuppins? Is this what she needs, to transition from being your majordomo to your running and training partner?¡±

    Poor Ms. Tuppins, Harald heard Vorakhar sneer. She¡¯s worked so very hard to be useful. To make a difference in the world. But nobody takes her seriously, because they all know exactly what she is. A little maid, so brave, so foolish, destined to die just before the final act so that the true hero can confront the monster. Poor, poor Ms. Tuppins.

    ¡°Fuck,¡± said Harald.

    ¡°And there¡¯s Nessa, of course.¡± Vic waved his glass before him, sloshing the cordial. ¡°What a beautiful, broken, deadly woman. She¡¯s like a shattered mirror, choosing to reflect the worst of herself at everyone who glances her way.¡± Vic paused, frowned. ¡°You know what I mean. And then you did something the night before the raid. She was going to sneak out, wasn¡¯t she?¡±

    ¡°You knew?¡±

    ¡°It was pretty obvious.¡±

    ¡°You didn¡¯t move to stop her.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve done enough. I¡¯m not her father, I¡¯m not her husband, I¡¯m not even fucking her. You remember the number one cause of raiders¡¯ dying?¡±

    ¡°Vic.¡±

    ¡°What I¡¯m saying is, I knew she was going to bolt, but at some point you let people take responsibility for themselves. You can lead a horse to water, but you shouldn¡¯t dunk its head in the lake and hold it under till it takes a fucking drink. But you. You made her take that drink, didn¡¯t you.¡±

    ¡°I thought I was helping.¡±

    ¡°What you were doing was taking responsibility.¡± Vic stared at him, gaze shrewd. ¡°Beyond a certain point, help becomes a promise. But you didn¡¯t stop to consider what it meant to make that promise, did you? Or the terms of that promise, from where she was standing?¡±

    Harald wanted to protest. To argue that his intentions had been true.

    You lied, Nessa had hissed. You told me you changed. But that¡¯s not the truth, is it? You were changed.

    What had he told her, the night he¡¯d fought her to a stand-still?

    Come on, Nessa. We can walk this path together.

    He¡¯d made no mention of the third, shadowy figure walking it already by Harald¡¯s side.

    ¡°You want this to work, Harry-boy, you need to be more careful with your promises. You need to actual think about your supposed friends, and not just what you can get out of them.¡± Vic raised an eyebrow meaningfully. ¡°You want Sam and Nessa to become true raiders after your own heart, fight-and-die friends who¡¯ll guard your back either down in the dungeon or the ballrooms of the nobility? Then you need to start taking them as seriously as they¡¯ve done you. Otherwise?¡±

    Vic shrugged, considered, and then drained his glass.

    ¡°Pah,¡± he wheezed. ¡°Disgusting.¡±

    Harald stared morosely at the grass between his feet. Vic was right.

    ¡°I ever read you the description for my new Nature, Vic?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± said Vic, ¡°I can¡¯t say that you¡¯ve ever bothered.¡±

    ¡°You are the aching heart of ambition, the howling hunger that yearns to consume the world. A child of darkness, you will always seek the light, but will destroy all that you pursue.¡±

    Vic made a face. ¡°Well, now I¡¯m the one with an inappropriate erection.¡±

    Harald snorted and looked away. ¡°I¡¯ve been telling myself that Vorakhar¡¯s gift hasn¡¯t changed me. Not in the way that matters. That I¡¯ll resist his demonic lures, that I¡¯ll walk the straight and narrow path, and benefit from his gifts while remaining true to myself. But he¡¯s done more than give me the Demon Seed. He brought to the fore a part of myself that desires nothing but total conquest.¡±

    Vic considered. ¡°Well, you wouldn¡¯t be the first.¡±

    ¡°I need to do better. Be better. I hadn¡¯t even realized how badly I was messing up. Thank you, Vic.¡±

    ¡°Oh, pshht. I¡¯m just your opportunistic friend that here¡¯s to raid your wine cellar, enjoy crossing wits with the Platinum Opera House¡ªno, clashing tits with the¡­ fuck, this stuff is strong.¡± Vic considered his empty glass, then refilled it. ¡°What I¡¯m saying is, don¡¯t thank me, Harry-boy. I¡¯m a cruel, callous leach with a yearning for feminine¡­ what¡¯s a polite word for ¡®cunt¡¯?¡±

    ¡°And on that note I¡¯ll take my leave.¡± Harald began placing the practice swords in the bag.

    ¡°Probably best.¡± Vic leaned back on the steps and sighed. ¡°I was made for this. Dropping pearls of wisdom before swine while lounging about in a dead man¡¯s evening gown. Find me another bottle, will you darling?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll see what I can do.¡± But Harald wasn¡¯t fooled. Even as he mounted the steps, Vic¡¯s words continued to sting, the truth he¡¯d revealed, the abyss he¡¯d casually pointed out yawning at Harald¡¯s feet.

    Vic might be drunk, but he was, as ever, fully in control of himself and the moment.

    When he got inside, he dumped the bag by the kitchen doorway and leaned his aching head against the wall. Nessa had beaten him but good, and now he felt like he doubly deserved it.

    ¡°I will do better,¡± he whispered. ¡°I will do better. Vorakhar won¡¯t have me. I¡¯ll be a better friend. We¡¯ll rise together.¡±

    He thought of his True Nature, and shuddered.

    ¡°We¡¯ll rise together,¡± he whispered again, and pushed off the wall. ¡°We will.¡±

 Chapter 40

    Vic left that evening on undisclosed business.

    Nessa was long gone by that point.

    Sam had departed without saying another word.

    Harald fixed himself a bowl of leftovers, poured himself a glass of water from the bucket he fetched from the well, and sat before the parlor fire, slowly shoveling food into his mouth.

    He wasn¡¯t hungry, but he knew he needed to eat. To consume fuel for his body.

    The house was empty, and sounded like it. Even as it settled down for the night, timbers creaking, the tenor of the silence was different. The feel.

    He was alone.

    Harald stared into the fire, only rising on occasion to toss in another log.

    He didn¡¯t want to spend the evening going over everything that had happened. Searching his actions for mistakes, for signs of demonic influence.

    Maybe it was there, maybe it wasn¡¯t.

    But what was done was done.

    Instead, he turned his thoughts to what he could do differently moving forward.

    The key element was to hew to discipline. There were no shortcuts, no easy way to achieve the power and dominance he desired without constant, hard practice. His body had come a long way, but if anything it just showed him how much farther he had to go.

    And Nessa had put to rest any illusions he might have had over his own lethality in battle.

    If he wanted to become strong¡ªwhich he did, now more than ever¡ªthen he had to continue what he¡¯d been doing, and if anything, push himself harder.

    As for his friends?

    Harald finished his bowl and set it aside, sitting back in his armchair and lacing his fingers beneath his chin.

    He wanted them in his life. For many reasons. Selfish reasons, practical reasons, mostly, but the most powerful one, the foundation to his desire, was because he liked them. He wanted them around. He wanted to share his victories with them, his meals, his nights, his wins, his losses.

    He cared for Sam, for Nessa, even for Vic.

    So he would continue training as before. He would push himself to the breaking point.

    But with one difference.

    Moving forward, he would take time to do as Vic had suggested. He¡¯d widen the scope of his vision, and he¡¯d act with integrity, would ask himself what his friends needed, try to learn what they were struggling with, seek to help them on their journey as they¡¯d been helping him.

    Harald smirked and shook his head. When he put it that way, it came down to one simple thing: he¡¯d try to be a better friend.

    And if his Soul Nature fought him on that?

    Then he would fight his nature.

    *

    Furthak¡¯s Smithy was a rambling series of connected buildings, workshops, and storage chambers. It looked disreputable at a glance if you were just striding down Fire Lane; a mass of low roofed, ad hoc construction that appeared cobbled together over time, expanding to fill a whole city block just as flotsam might accrue on the shore after a wreck at sea.

    Smoke rose from dozens of chimneys, and the clatter of hammers formed a constant din. There was no inviting entrance, no polished sign; instead there were a number of dark doorways through which a constant trickle of customers passed, turning knowingly and with confidence from the lane to enter Furthak¡¯s domain.

    Sam hitched her pack and hesitated. A fine misty rain was falling, enough to make the walls glisten and the lane liquefy into mud. It had permeated her woolen cloak, wet her face, and soaked through the tops of her boots. Within was warmth, friendship, good cheer.

    But still Sam hesitated, backing up against the wall of the Sodden Goat tavern that stood on the other side of the lane from the smithy.

    She hefted her pack. Within was her ruined armor and enough scales to convince Furthak¡ªor one of his apprentices¡ªto start working on it.

    But why was her heart hammering so?

    She¡¯d stood in her room at the manor, furious at Harald, at Nessa, at the world, at herself. Determined to head out into Flutic, to explore, to spend scales frivolously for the first time in her life. Had wandered to her square little window and stared out over the estate wall at the rooftops and chimneys and distant towers.

    Go where? Spend her scales on what?

    The very thought of picking a tavern at random, finding a seat at the bar or asking for a solitary table at which to drink a cup of ale made her feel nauseous.

    But she had to go out. She had to do something.

    Because if she didn¡¯t, if she couldn¡¯t, then she¡¯d have to admit there was something profoundly wrong with her, and that was a subject she wanted to avoid as strenuously as she could.

    Which was why she¡¯d packed up her armor, elated at that thought of visiting Furthak first. It gave her a goal, a practical and needed errand to run, and then, after that was taken care of, well. She¡¯d figure the rest of the day out from there.

    But now she stood in the damp and the rain, armor heavy over one shoulder, frowning and uncertain.

    She¡¯d vowed to think things over.

    But was having her armor repaired an answer to questions she hadn¡¯t even dared ask herself yet?

    The longer she stood there, the more pathetic she felt, the more lost, the more forlorn.

    A large, heavyset man came stomping down the center of the lane, puffing on a pipe, the cowl of his cloak pulled low over his bearded face.

    Sam shrank back.

    Furthak himself.

    A heavy hammer hung from his broad, tooled belt, and his hands were the largest she¡¯d ever seen, his knuckles like chestnuts, the veins on the back like earthworms, his palm callused and creased like a giant leather glove.

    Furthak was making a beeline for one of the entrances, but some instinct caused him to stop, turn, and stare right at her.

    Caught.

    Sam squared her shoulders and forced a smile.

    ¡°Sam?¡± His rumble like was the thunder that had been missing from the storm. ¡°That you?¡±

    ¡°Hello Furthak.¡± She pushed off the wall and stepped up, trying for nonchalance. ¡°You available for some more work?¡±

    His frown had terrified at her at first. Great craggy brows that bristled with red and gray hairs, his eyes sunken but sharp like a bird of prey¡¯s, his cheeks red as if burnished by the flames he¡¯d spent his life mastering, his beard more iron now than red, with its tip singed and his mustache hiding his mouth. It was a striking visage, all hard angles and obdurate planes, and she¡¯d barely been able to squeak her replies to his questions when they first met.

    Now? Now his glare felt strangely like home, and for some reason that made her feel even sadder.

    ¡°More business? That why you¡¯re quailing against the Sodden Goat like a virgin on her wedding night?¡±

    ¡°That many brides visit the Goat before their husband¡¯s beds?¡± she asked lightly. Deflection, she¡¯d learned with Furthak, was key.

    ¡°Ha. Perhaps they should, at that. Come on then.¡±

    She followed his broad back into the smithy. He led her through a warren of storage rooms filled with raw materials and finished goods, grinding and polishing rooms, fitting chambers, through the open air smelting yard, past a couple of smaller forges being worked by his apprentices, and then at last to the heart of the smithy, the his main forge where his dwarven anvil sat resplendent.

    Several apprentices were present, tending the large brick oven where endless coals smoldered, or tinkering away at the workbenches. They called out their greetings, but Furthak ignored them, moving over to one of his benches as he pulled off his cloak and tossed it at a youth who rushed up just in time.

    ¡°Blasted weather,¡± he muttered, wiping at his face and turning to regard Sam with a gaze that was far too sharp. ¡°Nobody in their right mind would be out in it.¡±

    ¡°Unless their need was sharp,¡± said Sam, setting her armor on his bench. ¡°I¡¯ve bad news about my commission.¡±

    Furthak grunted and undid the straps with a surprisingly delicate touch, given how thick his fingers were. Sam winced when he drew out the armor, setting it on the bench piece by piece without comment till it lay before him in all its ruined glory.

    ¡°Hmmph,¡± he grunted, puffing on his pipe. He turned over the partially melted cuirass, then ran his fingers over the torn chain and leather. ¡°You told me you¡¯d not be wearing this in earnest for years to come.¡±

    ¡°Things changed.¡± Sam didn¡¯t know what to do with her hands, so she linked them behind her back. ¡°My life changed. Master Darrowdelve¡ªHarald¡ªended my oath.¡±

    Furthak glanced sidelong at her from under his bushy brows, not saying anything as he took her measure.

    Sam tried for a smile, but her mouth felt tight, the expression strained.

    ¡°Did he now?¡± Furthak nodded slowly, still studying her. ¡°So you donned your armor and went straight for the dungeon?¡±

    ¡°You know it¡¯s always been my dream.¡± She gave a helpless shrug. ¡°Harald changed after his first delve. He became more serious, more committed to training, to making something of himself. But he was so lost that I felt¡ªwell. I decided to train with him, to help him earn a class. To go into the dungeon and make my own scales.¡±

    Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°You¡¯re not in need of scales. That¡¯s what you told me when you badgered me into making this. You had more than enough to cover the costs and keep yourself in comfort.¡±

    ¡°Well, yes. It wasn¡¯t just for the scales.¡± She shrugged one shoulder, feeling herself seven years old before his ornery stare. ¡°I¡¯ve just always wanted to be a raider.¡±

    ¡°Hmmph.¡± He ran his thumb over the ripples that had formed in the steel. ¡°You survived this blow?¡±

    ¡°I shouldn¡¯t have.¡±

    ¡°Tell me something I don¡¯t know.¡± He walked around the scarred bench and took up a paldron, turning it over in the red light. ¡°He ask you to help him? Offer to pay?¡±

    ¡°Harald? No. I was the one who offered to help him.¡±

    Furthak¡¯s face was as expressive as a granite cliff.

    ¡°He¡¯s like a brother to me,¡± she protested. ¡°He¡¯s a good person. Always has been, in his way. And Darrowdelve Manor has been my home. It¡¯s where I grew up. When I saw how much trouble he was in, and how he wanted what I wanted, it felt right to just offer to help. To train with him.¡±

    Furthak nodded slowly, but she could tell he wasn¡¯t agreeing with her, just taking in her words. ¡°A good person, you say. Like a brother.¡±

    Sam nodded.

    Furthak set the paldron down. ¡°Follow me, Sam.¡±

    He led her out of the smithy, through a dark hallway that opened into the display hall where high-end products were showcased. Past the mannequins in armor, the weapon racks, the cases for smaller, more cunningly crafted items, and into the office.

    She¡¯d never been in here.

    The place was a mess. It looked like it had been ransacked, with piles of papers everywhere, hammers, crates of supplies, dirty plates, endless rolls of parchment, and a rich and redolent smell that was part iron furnace tang, part pipe smoke.

    Furthak rounded his massive desk and sank into his much abused armchair with a sigh. Sam drifted to stand before him till he grunted in annoyance and gestured at one of the chairs. She moved a box of rusted ingots to the floor, and sat as he poured a finger of amber liquid into two metal cups.

    ¡°Here.¡± He set the cup before her, then sat back. ¡°I was oathbound once. I ever tell you that?¡±

    Sam¡¯s cup froze halfway to her lips. ¡°You were?¡±

    ¡°Aye, in Dumr?n. I traveled there when I was young, petitioned to learn the ancient arts from the dwarven smithlords themselves. It took me almost a year to get an audience with a Forge Father. I impressed him enough with what I¡¯d learned that he agreed to take me on if became one of his oathsworn.¡±

    Furthak was staring into his cup, his brow corrugated in thought, but now his gaze flicked up to her, quick as a lash. ¡°You know that the practice of oathbinding originated with the dwarves, aye?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± said Sam quietly. ¡°My father told me as much.¡±

    ¡°He said he¡¯d teach me in exchange for my unpaid and unquestioning labor. I asked how long I¡¯d be oathbound for, and he said no set duration of time. That I¡¯d earn my freedom the day I presented him with something worthy of a dwarf. Seeing as that matched my ambitions, I agreed.¡±

    Sam sipped from the tin cup. It was whisky, harsh and rough in comparison to what was stocked at Darrowdelve. She fought the urge to wince and continued listening intently.

    ¡°For the first two years he wouldn¡¯t let me close to the forge. I swept his quarters, I mucked out his latrine, I carried smithing dross and dumped it into the chasms. I grew livid. Thought I¡¯d been tricked, but being oathbound, what could I do?¡±

    Sam¡¯s eyes widened.

    ¡°Eventually of course the old bastard gave me access, and seven years later I presented him with a horse shoe he approved of. That earned me my freedom. He offered to continue my training, to start teaching me actual secrets, perhaps even how to summon the Earthblood. We¡¯d grown close, somehow, over those last few years. I was thirty-nine, and he¡¯d been almost all of the company I¡¯d kept for near on a decade. It got so that his praise could make me cry. His criticism made me doubt my self-worth. There were dark weeks there, when I thought I¡¯d never amount to nothing, when I tossed the smithing dross into the chasms, and thought of tossing myself right after.¡±

    He shook his head as if in disbelief at himself, and tossed the contents of the cup back in one go.

    Set the cup down with a click, and fixed her with his piercing stare.

    ¡°The reason I¡¯m telling you this old story is because on the day he took that fucking horse shoe and declared it fit work for an apprentice dwarf, I felt such relief that I near passed out, and mixed in with it, this gratitude that made me want to bawl. On some twisted level I¡¯d come to love the old bastard. To anticipate his needs, to understand his crankiness, to forgive the endless abuse I suffered at his hands. When he made me that offer, I felt honored in the extreme. And I almost accepted. But I didn¡¯t. I thanked him, packed up my meager belongings, and set off that very same day for Flutic. You know why?¡±

    Sam couldn¡¯t swallow. Could barely breathe. ¡°No. Why?¡±

    Furthak leaned forward, his brow lowering, his stare ferocious. ¡°Because that bastard wasn¡¯t my father, and he wasn¡¯t my friend. The love I felt for him was that of a beaten dog that¡¯s grateful each night his master forgets the whip. Being oathbound poisons you, Sam. It twists you. I fell under that yoke when I was thirty, a man already made. You? You were born into it.¡±

    Furthak sat back, his chair protesting.

    Sam¡¯s breathing was deep and rapid. She felt dazed, felt as if she were watching this conversation take place from a yard above and behind herself.

    ¡°I¡­ I know what you mean, obviously, I¡¯ve heard, I mean, I¡¯ve lived that life myself, and¡­ and I know that I should have done more already for myself, should have, I don¡¯t know, gone out and had fun or something, but I don¡¯t even know what that means, to have fun, and Harald, Haralds¡¯ a good man, a genuinely good person, he freed me, I was the one who offered¡ª¡±

    Tears were brimming in her eyes, the words spilling from her lips without her knowing what she was trying to say.

    Furthak just frowned at her.

    Sam cut herself off, sat tall and stiff and panicked.

    ¡°Listen, Sam.¡± He sighed. ¡°You¡¯re a free woman. You need to sit with that. You need to decide what that means. But immediately deciding to train and serve your former master doesn¡¯t sound right, doesn¡¯t sound healthy, and doesn¡¯t even sound like a decision. You want to raid? Well and good. You want to raid with Harald? Well, that¡¯s problematic, but perhaps you can find a way. But you need to take time to decide how to do it on your terms, not his. You need to interrogate your own instincts, because they¡¯ll play you false.¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡± Sam took a deep shuddering breath. ¡°I just¡­ I just don¡¯t know where to start.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s easy. Do nothing. Literally. Where you living now?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m¡­¡± She hated to say it. ¡°I¡¯m still in Darrowdelve.¡±

    ¡°Same room?¡±

    She nodded mutely.

    ¡°Oh, Sam.¡± His dolorous gaze made her want to run. ¡°I¡¯ll fix your armor, but on the condition that you get yourself a good room of your own. I¡¯ve a friend who runs a right proper inn called the Flowering Bower. It¡¯s in a nice part of town, bordering with the Angelus. You get yourself a room there, and think things over.¡±

    ¡°Get a room? To think?¡±

    ¡°Aye.¡±

    ¡°For how long?¡±

    ¡°For as long as it takes. Don¡¯t mind the expense, I¡¯ll speak with my friend. You journal, Sam?¡±

    ¡°I¡­ yes. Mostly about raiding, notes from the Gazette, things like that.¡±

    ¡°This time, journal your thoughts. Your feelings. Interrogate them. Eat, drink, write, sleep, and just be. Breathe a little with no place to go.¡±

    Sam nodded slowly. The very idea felt¡­ revolutionary. ¡°All right. But Harald won¡¯t know¡ª¡±

    ¡°Listen to me, Sam.¡± Furthak leaned forward, his stare as intimidating as the void. ¡°This is your time. Harald can fucking wait.¡±

    Sam¡¯s eyes opened wide.

    ¡°This is your time. When you¡¯re ready, you¡¯ll know what to do. But don¡¯t leave the inn till you¡¯re well and truly ready, or as close as you can figure. Can you agree to that?¡±

    Sam fought to catch her breath, couldn¡¯t. So instead she gave a jerky nod.

    ¡°Good.¡± He refilled their tin cups, then raised his own in a toast. ¡°A final drink, then. A toast. To being our own selves.¡±

    ¡°To being our own selves,¡± whispered Sam, and clinked her cup against his own.

    *

    Nessa strode down Dark Lane, one hand resting lightly on the pommel of her sword, the other holding a cheroot just shy of her lips.

    Dark Lane. An ironic name if ever there was one. Colored lanterns burned bright behind every window, candles lit the balconies that nearly touched overhead, and those who walked its winding length were gaudily dressed as if for a parade.

    Dark Lane. Not named for the quality of its illumination, but rather for the manner of deeds that took place behind its many doors.

    One idiot catcalled Nessa as she strode by. She didn¡¯t even glance his way, heard more than saw a companion smack the back of the man¡¯s head, heard the whispered warning.

    She was known here.

    Not a regular.

    But a Bladeweaver of her caliber tended to make an impression. Especially when her looks drew eyes as much as the painted men and women who leaned over the balconies, ringing the tinkling bells attached to their wrists as they laughed their husky laughs.

    Dark Lane. The air reeked of mud, piss, yearnsmoke, cheap perfume, and desperation. Every corner, every doorway, every stoop featured poverty on the make, enterprising souls looking to capitalize on desires, whether for flesh, drugs, punishment, or simple entertainment.

    Nessa navigated the crowd gathered outside the Gallows Theater with its macabre and morbid performances that took place on the infamous basement stage. Winked at the few acquaintances worth being acknowledged. Ignored the greetings of everyone else. Kept her gaze straight ahead.

    She gave an up-nod to Berkus, the half-giant bouncer who sat near doubled over in the entrance to the Chopping Block. He grunted in response and pushed open the narrow door with a hand that nearly spanned the five vertical boards painted black and splattered with red paint.

    Nessa passed into the dark hallway, descended to the basement level, and crossed to the bar. Familiar faces appraised her, smiles insincere, eyes like those of dead fish.

    But tonight she wanted to be left alone.

    Had no tolerance for what at other times might be amusing small talk.

    She¡¯d only drunk half her wine when Tibbits appeared by her side, his incongruously white hair cropped close, his handsome face pulled into a playful pout, his outfit a mockingly torn replica of what the nobles were wearing at court.

    Which was funny, given his pedigree.

    ¡°Nessa, my sweetest love. You¡¯ve returned. Can my heart handle such a thrill?¡±

    ¡°You tell me, Tibbits.¡± She blew out a ring of smoke and turned to face him.

    ¡°Oh, she¡¯s come for business, not pleasure.¡± Tibbits smile glistened in the dark. ¡°And so soon? Didn¡¯t you darken my doorway but a few nights ago?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re keeping tabs?¡±

    ¡°Oh no. I¡¯m not one to judge. Care to follow me?¡±

    Nessa felt her chest grow tight. ¡°Lead on.¡±

    Tibbits led her to the back and into a tiny hallway that was all doors. Each was painted with the sigil of a major Flutic House, and he knocked on the dragon head of Drakenhart before cracking the door open, peered inside, then opened it with greater authority.

    ¡°Make yourself at home, love.¡± He gestured grandly at the tiny setee that was squeezed against the back wall, a single lantern with purple-tinted light giving the small closet of a room an otherworldly feel. A circular table of black glass was set before it, and the smell of vomit hung thinly in the air.

    Nessa grimaced, stepped in, turned, sat.

    Tibbits closed the door behind him. ¡°What caliber, dear?¡±

    She dug out a Silver Starburst. Part of her spoils from their most recent delve. ¡°Here you go.¡±

    ¡°Lovely.¡± Tibbits pulled a silver case, knelt before the table, and set it out between them. The inside of the lid was solid lead, scored with faint cuts, while the other half held a razor and five thin vials pressed between black velvet grooves.

    With quick professionalism he cut her Silver to slivers on the lead, then drew out a small mortar and pestle that he used to grind it into a fine dust. Into this he squeezed several drops from the vials, and then he tapped out the final product onto a silver plate which he set before her.

    ¡°Pay on the way out, love.¡± He stood, snapping his case closed. ¡°Take your time.¡±

    And then he was gone.

    Nessa¡¯s stomach burned with acid.

    She sat still, blade propped against the setee, hands on her knees.

    The silver plate gleamed in the purple light.

    Glory.

    She couldn¡¯t breathe.

    Need had her by the throat. It was right there. She¡¯d earned this.

    She thought of Harald. His mooncalf face, his round features, his snaggly teeth. Once she¡¯d felt little more than contempt doctored with a modicum of fondness for his earnestness.

    Now?

    Not contempt, that was for sure.

    How he¡¯d changed. That morning, as he¡¯d dueled her, she¡¯d caught a glimpse of something in his eyes. A severity, a shocking, murderous intent. He¡¯d been swinging his sword like a stick, but his abilities, his focus, his ferocity¡ªhe had the makings of a real fighter.

    Nessa hissed and bowed her head, digging her thumbs into her eyes.

    All she had to do was take the glory.

    So why was she thinking of Harald?

    How he fought to carry those sandbags. How he drilled at all hours with the blade. His will, his intent, his focus. There was no denying it.

    It was impressive.

    A word she almost never used.

    But now she understood why.

    He was a demon¡¯s plaything.

    The words he¡¯d spoken that night when he¡¯d turned her back from the door had been lies.

    Nessa stood, took two steps to the exit, turned to stare at the silver plate. The room was claustrophobic. She wanted to pace. To swing her sword.

    He¡¯d lied.

    Hadn¡¯t he?

    She¡¯d always held that actions spoke louder than words.

    What did his actions say about him?

    ¡°Damn it,¡± she whispered, running her fingers through her hair. Why was she hesitating? She¡¯d come here with one intent.

    Resolved, she sat again, reached for the plate.

    Saw Harald¡¯s flat stare.

    Not the stare of a child, or a fool, or a weak man, or a spoiled aristocratic brat.

    His gaze spoke volumes as to who he was. Who he was becoming.

    He¡¯d not stopped her when she¡¯d made her intentions clear that morning. Instead, he¡¯d simply stared at her. A flat, measuring stare.

    The same stare her swordsmaster used to regard her with when she cried that she couldn¡¯t go on.

    Daring her to do better. Be better.

    ¡°He lied,¡± she whispered.

    What had she said to Harald that night?

    You¡¯re making a mistake. I¡¯ll betray you. Hurt you. Disappoint you.

    He¡¯d not protested.

    No, of course not, instead, he¡¯d betrayed her.

    Hadn¡¯t he?

    She set the plate down and buried her face in her hands.

    ¡°Get it together, Nessa.¡± Her whisper sounded like a prayer. ¡°You don¡¯t owe him anything. He¡¯s just like the others. Just like all the others.¡±

    But, she realized, she didn¡¯t believe it.

    She dropped her hands and stared at the glory. Pulled on her lower lip, then let out a cry and smacked the plate, knocking it and the drug aside.

    ¡°Fuck,¡± she moaned, turning away and snatching up her blade.

    Two steps and she was out the door.

    ¡°Fuck, fuck, fuck!¡±

 Chapter 41

    Harald awoke to an empty house before the Sixth Bell.

    He rose, dressed, ran.

    Not knowing what he¡¯d return to, he pushed himself to run farther than he¡¯d ever gone before. Slow and steady, feeling dangerous, focused, unsure.

    When he returned to the manor it was to find a courier standing outside his front door in the official livery of the Flutic Treasury, all puffed in gold and black.

    ¡°Ah, Master¡­ Darrowdelve?¡± The courier hesitated, glancing up and down Harald¡¯s sweaty form.

    ¡°Speaking.¡± Harald walked up the main steps to stand before him. ¡°Yes?¡±

    ¡°I have been entrusted with delivering to your hand a Decree of Debt Reckoning. This is a formal document signed by the Under Secretary of the Flutic Treasury in response to a delinquency on the part of your household in paying a collection of debts that were consolidated at your request six months prior.¡±

    The courier extended the thick envelop.

    Harald smiled. ¡°Excellent delivery. Thank you.¡± He took it.

    The man inclined his head with a tight smile then departed.

    Harald let himself inside and then paused to listen.

    Nothing.

    An empty house.

    An empty house that stood upon a foundation of debts.

    ¡°Ah well,¡± he sighed, and strode down the entrance hall to the kitchen in the back. More and more that room had begun to feel like the heart of the entire manor. He took up a knife, cut through the Treasury Seal, and drew forth the luxuriously thick letter.

    Lips pursed, he read the warning, then tossed it on the table. It stated in formal terms that he¡¯d enter default in three weeks¡¯ time, at which point he would be fined as the Flutic Treasury began procedures to seize the house.

    Which would begin their final month before eviction.

    ¡°So it goes.¡±

    With nobody around, a strange lassitude came over him. Weariness from the run, yes, but something more.

    He¡¯d grown used to voices, company, jokes, momentum.

    Alone in the cold house, the fires unlit, the food uncooked, he sensed how easy it would be to simply sit somewhere and sink into his thoughts.

    Instead he forced himself to cook breakfast and fix himself a pot of coffee. It felt artificial, as if he were going through the motions, and he found himself humming to dispel the silence.

    He ate by himself, then washed the dishes.

    The sweat had cooled, his thighs were twitching from the run, his calves tight.

    About now Sam would ask if he was ready to head downstairs and begin the  Marheim exercises.

    He stood by the counter, staring at the debt notice, and felt strangely and awkwardly alone.

    But there was nothing for it.

    The weights weren¡¯t going to lift themselves.

    He descended to the basement, lit the lanterns, and regarded the weights.

    ¡°Just you and me, Gustav,¡± he said, and the depth of the room absorbed his voice and gave nothing back.

    Lips pursed he strode down to the weights, took up the paper on which Sam had been keeping track of their progress, and studied what he was supposed to do.

    Then he did it.

    It wasn¡¯t pretty. He grunted, he strained, he pushed for extra reps, and sometimes he got them.

    But he did the exercises.

    That done, he took a shallow drink of water, then hefted the corpse bag out of its storage closet. He no longer dreaded the sand-filled duffel bag as he¡¯d once done.

    Sore and weary, he crouched before it, grabbed it by the leather straps, then hefted it up in one smooth pull, dropping the bag over his shoulder.

    Harald grunted, but it felt manageable.

    Strength 11 made a world of a difference.

    Taking a deep breath, he began his runs.

    Then he worked the climbing rope, then he did the ladder.

    Time passed.

    The world reduced to the mineral tang of the gym air, that old stale smell of sweat, the burn of his palms, the rasp of his breath, sweat running into his eyes. He labored, fought, persevered.

    He wasn¡¯t sure how long it took him, but finally he was done.

    He¡¯d ended with some sword drills, working through the Dungeon Square though the exercise now felt futile.

    ¡°Fuck me,¡± he gasped, wiping sweat from his brow.

    Silence.

    He stood and stared at Gustav.

    Old memories arose.

    His father working the mannequin, playing with it, laughing as he evaded its blows, hammering it again and again with his blade.

    Harald pursed his lips. They were some of the few memories he had of his father being happy. The only time he looked like himself, free of concerns, his impatience, his stinging sarcasm, his heavy hand, his brutal and dour outlook on life.

    ¡°You got the best of him,¡± said Harald to the dumb mannequin. ¡°He was happier by far with you then with me.¡±

    Gustav¡¯s faceless head made no response.

    A dull anger arose within Harald. There was so much his father could have told him. Taught him, if he¡¯d given Harald the time. Instead he¡¯d belittled him, mocked him for his initial failures, instilled in him a fear of messing up before his dad.

    ¡°What was so much more important?¡± he demanded of his dead father, stalking toward the mannequin, wooden practice blade in hand. ¡°What were you so focused on that you couldn¡¯t see me?¡±

    Gustav made no response.

    Anger boiled up within Harald. This damn mannequin. And it was still hiding his father¡¯s secrets. Secrets that his father could have just shared with him, sat him down and explained.

    ¡°Damn you,¡± he hissed, the pain, the bottled up anguish, the resentment, the bitterness all rising within him.

    Without thinking, he raised his wooden sword and struck with all his anger at Gustav.

    The abyss flowed through him, the air grew chill, as he felt both his Active and Passive abilities activate.

    The wooden sword turned jet black.

    Gustav didn¡¯t even flinch.

    With a cry Harald brought the sword cracking across the mannequin¡¯s head, and the abyss coruscated blackly for a moment, forming a nexus of oblivion where sword met wood.

    The mannequin rocked in place, and then a grinding sound came from behind Harald.

    He wheeled about and saw a narrow doorway open where before he could have sworn was the thickest stone.

    For a moment he could only gape, then he stared at this blade, at Gustav, then back to the door.

    Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

    Your inheritance is yours once you are worthy.

    Gustav is the key. Strike with the right energy.

    Kill your masters.

    Had the abyss been the ¡®right¡¯ energy? Had his father keyed him to such an obscure class? How could he have guessed, known, hoped that Harald would become an Abyssal Initiate?

    Harald dropped the wooden blade and stepped tentatively to the secret door. Just like in the dungeon, but this one was masterfully built, its edges sharp, the door having recessed and slid out of sight into a broad slot in the stone.

    For a moment Harald simply stared down the winding staircase that led into utter blackness, then he stepped aside to snag a lantern, summoned the Dawnblade into his hand, and lantern held high, entered his father¡¯s domain.

    The stairs rotated three times and opened into a small chamber.

    No other exits.

    The ceiling was low, the stonework expertly cut from the living rock.

    A simple wooden shelf ran along the back wall. Upon it lay a leather folder, a thong wrapped around it several times and then tucked under itself. A small, iron bound chest was set against the wall beneath the shelf, and a weapon¡¯s rack was bolted into the wall to Harald¡¯s left. It held a kite shield with a protruding central boss, a slender needle of a sword only as long as Harald¡¯s arm, a hatchet with a head of gold, and three identical daggers with curving blades of blue metal.

    The silence ached.

    Numb, hands shaking, Harald stepped up to the wooden shelf and set the lantern upon it.

    The leather folder was dyed navy blue, but otherwise unmarked. Harald took it up and unwound the thong, then parted the folder upon the shelf.

    It contained four sheets of parchment, his father¡¯s angular, crabbed writing scrawled across all four.

    Harry

    His name at the top caused his chest to hitch, his gut to tighten, his throat to lock. For a moment his eyes swam with tears, and he heard his father¡¯s voice, not the angry tone, the mocking one, nor even the sarcastic, belittling one.

    The gruff, heartfelt way his father used to say his name while his mother was still alive.

    Harald sniffed sharply, wiped angrily at his eyes, then angled the sheets toward the lantern.

    Harry,

    If you¡¯re reading this, then I reckon you¡¯ve not turned out a complete waste of my seed after all. I¡¯ll admit the chances of that happening are slim. The boy you are as I write this is not the son I¡¯d imagined I¡¯d sire. But then I¡¯ve not turned out to be the man I once dreamed of being, so I guess we¡¯re even on that score.

    ¡°Fuck you, Dad,¡± whispered Harald.

    The only way you¡¯re reading this is if you¡¯ve struck a deal with that bastard, Vorakhar. You¡¯ve probably figured out by now that I didn¡¯t kill him like I claimed. Get over it. I had to explain that Nightshard, and Vorakhar himself offered his finger as proof and suggested I claim the kill. It worked well enough. But this means my mistakes have fallen upon you. Well. These papers are my attempt to rectify my shitty parenting.

    Harald pursed his lips, even as he felt jangly excitement arise within him.

    I¡¯ll lay it out straight, as best I understand it, as I wish someone had done for me. Vorarkhar is at war with his five brothers and sisters. I¡¯ve not been introduced any of them, thank the angels, but heard Vorakhar bitch enough to figure out some facts. The most dangerous of them is the eldest brother, Silenthros. Grimarque, one of the sisters, is almost as bad. She¡¯s corrupted House Silvershield, I¡¯m pretty sure. Ha! Don¡¯t let anyone know. Lady Argent will kill half the city to preserve her reputation as a peacemaker.

    ¡°Fuck,¡± whispered Harald, looking up to stare at the wall. House Silvershield was highly respected, their agents easily marked for their distinctive sky blue and silver uniforms. They were famous for seeking to broker peace between the Houses, secure alliances, and uncover the influence of¡­ demons.

    Harald grimaced. Fucking hypocrites. Though he could see the rationale behind that move. How better to hide your own corruption than pretend to seek it in others?

    Seraphex is the demon I¡¯d have chosen as my patron if I¡¯d had my druthers, but that¡¯s because she¡¯s a hot bitch that¡¯s mad about warfare. Vorakhar fears her, partly because she¡¯s unstoppable in battle, and partly because he has trouble predicting what she¡¯ll do next.

    Valthazar I know little about. The middle brother, I saw him just once. Gold and black cloak, horns like batwings.

    The last sister is Eclavistra. Vorakhar holds her in contempt. From what I gather, she¡¯s the youngest of the lot and the weakest.

    Mark my words, son. Even Eclavistra can end your world, so don¡¯t go thinking you can play games with them. They¡¯re demon princes and princesses all, and Flutic has no idea what¡¯s brewing deep beneath its streets.

    Harald nodded slowly as he turned to the second page.

    Now, Vorakhar, he¡¯s the one I know best and he¡¯s a piece of work. He got his claws in me when he brought your mother back from death. I won¡¯t go into it, but it¡¯s why she ceased raiding and was always so weak. In the end, it¡¯s why she died regardless. But Vorakhar gave me six more years with her, and that¡¯s not nothing.

    Harald hissed and dropped the page. What!? He reread the top paragraph then clapped a hand to his brow.

    Vorakhar had brought his mother to life? Six years before she¡¯d died? Harald would have been¡­ three years old.

    That¡¯s when their fortunes had changed, his father had become wealthy and purchased Darrowdelve Manor. That¡¯s when his mother had become sickly, had confined herself to the manor, spending her mornings in bed, her afternoons in the garden.

    Harald¡¯s stomach turned as the pieces of his life fell into place.

    I¡¯ve no regrets, boy. What I did I did for love, and after your mother passed, I did more from habit than anything else. I won¡¯t defend it. But now, as I write this, I feel a reckoning coming. Vorakhar¡¯s explained that our deal was for the rest of my life, not Verena¡¯s, but that¡¯s not how I understood it. Soon I¡¯ll head down to have a chat with him. We¡¯ll see what comes of it.

    Harald flicked through the pages, seeking a date for when this was written.

    Nothing.

    Had his father¡¯s ¡®chat¡¯ with Vorakhar been what had claimed his life? It had to be.

    As I said, there¡¯s a war heating up in the depths of the Fallen Angel. The demons are at each other¡¯s throats. Grimarque¡¯s claimed the Throne of Harmony, and Vorakhar¡¯s got himself the Throne of Shadows. Just last year Seraphex stole the Throne of War, and last I heard Valthazar¡¯s about to capture the Throne of Knowledge.

    That¡¯ll leave just three Thrones left to the angels. Once they fall, and fall they will, the demons will truly turn upon each other. It¡¯ll be a bitter first fight, but the first to claim two Thrones will gain an insurmountable advantage, and sweep the rest. The fall, when it comes, will be sudden, and that¡¯ll be it for Flutic.

    Harald reread the entirety of the second page. The demons were claiming Thrones? The Thrones of the Cosmos? What did that even mean? The Thrones were the mystical focal points that every raider carried in his own personal Cosmos, that they unlocked with sufficient scales, and which in turn fed them power with which to fuel their abilities.

    What did it mean for Vorakhar to have ¡®got himself the Throne of Shadows¡¯? Did that mean that every raider¡¯s personal second Throne was a connection to Vorakhar? That couldn¡¯t be right.

    Bewildered, he reread the line about the angels. Who still held three Thrones. Was the female angel he¡¯d seen in the dungeon part of that defensive force?

    Feeling like he was going crazy, he turned to the third page.

    All of this is far above our paygrade. The noble houses are no longer generating heavy hitters as they once used to, but the demons are still keyed to activities in Flutic. They know that at any moment a fortunate soul may be rewarded by the Fallen Angel and cause problems for them, so they keep an eye on the raiders and seek to suborn those with a little promise.

    Promise like I once had.

    Promise, it seems, like you¡¯ve now got.

    Hence Vorakhar¡¯s patronage, and your acquiring dark energy. I can¡¯t guess the flavor, but he¡¯ll have given you a Demon Seed and engineered your getting a suitable class. There¡¯s no escaping him now, Harry, but that need not be a bad thing.

    The Demon Seed is given to very few. Very fucking few. It¡¯ll set you on the path to real power if you can handle it. It got to be too much for me. I stopped my training. But if you handle it right from the beginning, then you have a chance.

    A chance to kill Vorakhar, and get revenge for what he did to your mother.

    Look son, here¡¯s how you handle the Seed. It feeds off bloody-minded acts of willpower. It¡¯s not enough to train hard. You¡¯ve got to not only leave nothing on the table, you¡¯ve got to knock the table over. It gets harder to impress with time, so enjoy the rush of rewards while they¡¯re coming. But if you go it alone like I did, you¡¯ll lose yourself like I did after your mother died.

    So what you do is you get good friends, raiders you can trust with your life, and when you know you can trust, you tell them everything. Then you charge them with keeping you on the straight and narrow. Because you¡¯re going to become a monster, son. That Seed will warp whatever class you get and give you more than you can dream of.

    It was too much for me.

    But if you set your goals on killing Vorakhar, if you get friends to keep you aimed true, then fuck. That Seed will be your dream in hell of doing so.

    The end of the third page.

    Harald felt shook.

    It was as if his father were in the room with him, guiding him, addressing the very problems he was facing.

    ¡°Fuck me,¡± he whispered uncertainly. He almost didn¡¯t want to read the last page.

    The powers the Seed will give you are bad news, son. It¡¯s designed by Vorakhar to corrupt you and lead you down a dark path. Some of it will be right welcome. The regeneration and pain immunity has helped me more times than I can remember, and the demoniac body is unbelievable. Whatever your physical stats are now, forget it, you¡¯ve seen nothing. The combat abilities are what allowed me to earn my reputation, but whatever aura your class got, your Seed will warp it and turn it fucking dark.

    But that¡¯s nothing. Your class will have ¡®Initiate¡¯ added after it. That¡¯s the Seed¡¯s doing. When you evolve your class to the next level, it¡¯ll have ¡®Master¡¯ added after, and that¡¯s when you get the bad powers. The sick powers. The powers that I couldn¡¯t stomach, and which will make you unstoppable even as they make you a thing of evil. If you can find a way to wield those powers without becoming as bad as Vorakhar, than you¡¯re a wiser and stronger man than I.

    All right, my hand¡¯s cramping. I hate writing. I¡¯ll come back down soon to leave some choice weapons and some scales to help you along, and then, when I¡¯ve the stomach for it, I¡¯ll continue this letter.

    There¡¯s so damn much to tell you.

    Wish I could just sit you down now, but I can¡¯t. You¡¯re already fourteen, but you¡¯re a weak, gormless idiot that wouldn¡¯t understand the half of what I¡¯m saying, and if you never get the Seed, if Vorakhar never takes an interest in you, why, then I¡¯d just be wasting your time and mine.

    All right. More soon.

    Harald turned the sheet, then opened the leather folder again. Searched the shelf, searched the floor, then turned around, scanning the ground.

    Nothing.

    No more pages.

    ¡°You¡¯re kidding me,¡± hissed Harald. ¡°That¡¯s it? He never came back?¡±

    For a moment he just stood there, heart thudding, and then he set the lantern back down and rubbed at his face.

    Unbelievable.

    ¡°Harald?¡±

    Nessa, her voice uncertain, shaded with complex emotions.

    He spun around, stared in panic at the winding staircase that rose into the dark.

    ¡°Harald, you down there?¡±

    For a moment he couldn¡¯t think, couldn¡¯t breathe, and then he steadied himself, closed his eyes, and made his decision.

    ¡°I¡¯m down here, Nessa. Come on down. I¡¯ve got something to show you.¡±

 Chapter 42

    Nessa descended with understandable caution, but though her hand was on the pommel of her blade, it wasn¡¯t drawn.

    That was something at any rate.

    ¡°You found it?¡± She took in the small room at a glance. Her black hair hung in long curls past her face, a mass of blue-black down the front of her shoulder. She looked drawn, worn out, exhausted.

    But otherwise sharp. Alert.

    ¡°Yeah.¡± Harald turned to survey the contents of the small room. ¡°I found it. Turned out I had to hit Gustav with my abyssal energy. Though it wasn¡¯t really keyed to the abyss. More like the influence of the Demon Seed warping through it.¡±

    The room was small enough that Nessa remained by the steps. She appraised the weapon rack, eyebrows rising, glanced at the chest, then the papers. ¡°You father. He left you a letter?¡±

    ¡°The first part, at any rate.¡± Harald took up the sheets. ¡°Looks like he intended to come back and write more, but he never did. Still. He explained enough to make me hate him even more.¡±

    Nessa considered, licked her lower lip. ¡°Do you want some privacy?¡±

    ¡°I¡­¡± I want to go back to bed. ¡°No. I asked you down here for a reason. But I guess I¡¯ve got to ask you first: do you want to hear this?¡±

    Nessa¡¯s gray eyes were narrowed as she evaluated the situation. ¡°I¡¯m not sure.¡±

    ¡°Fair. Have you had coffee?¡±

    ¡°Actually, no.¡± The corner of her mouth quirked into a crooked grin. ¡°Which is criminal, now that I think about it.¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s grab a cup.¡± He nodded to the stairs. ¡°We can talk some in the kitchen. This room¡¯s not going anywhere.¡±

    ¡°Very well.¡± She took a step back, glancing covetously at the weapons on the rack one last time, then led the way up.

    They didn¡¯t speak as Harald fixed a second carafe of coffee. Set water to boil. Ground the dark beans imported by the Jade Empire merchants at great cost from the far south. Nessa unbelted her sword, hung it around the top of her chair, and sat upon its edge, the fingers of one hand slowly tapping out a rhythm as she watched him work.

    When finally he had two steaming mugs in hand, he set one before her, pulled out a chair, and sat back, mug cupped in his hands.

    They stared at each other, neither speaking.

    The twin parallel scars were faintly visible beneath her left eye. She still wore subtle make-up around her eyes from the night before. She smelled of smoke, of the city, of the night. But her gaze was clear and hard.

    ¡°It¡¯s good to see you,¡± he said at last, then sipped from his coffee.

    ¡°Then I clearly didn¡¯t beat you hard enough yesterday.¡±

    ¡°Oh, you did a pretty good job. It took me most of my morning run to work out the kinks and pain.¡± He shrugged. ¡°If you want I¡¯ll take off my shirt. You¡¯ll see I¡¯m black and blue.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s all right, thank you.¡±

    ¡°I deserved it. And probably a few more sessions like it. I know it¡¯ll break your heart, but the house was empty last night. I stayed up late, thinking. On some advice Vic gave me.¡±

    ¡°Oh?¡± Nessa leaned back, crossing one arm over her chest as she raised her mug to her lips. ¡°Did he rouse himself enough to drop some of his hard hitting truths?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s done the same with you?¡±

    ¡°Vic loves nothing more than to give people whiplash. I think it¡¯s why he cultivates his degenerate persona, so that when he makes his cutting observations he gets to enjoy how people gape.¡±

    ¡°Yes. Well. You¡¯ve got the right of it. But that doesn¡¯t detract from what he said.¡± Harald paused to frown at his coffee. ¡°Words are cheap, aren¡¯t they, Nessa? Promises, oaths, resolutions.¡±

    She sipped her coffee.

    ¡°My situation is more complicated than I thought. My father¡¯s letter confirmed that. But the one truth that¡¯s been shining through is my need to do better.¡± Now he glanced up at her from under his brows. ¡°To be better. Not faster, stronger, or more deadly. A better¡­ friend.¡±

    Her disbelief was obvious. ¡°Your father left you relationship advice?¡±

    ¡°Actually, yes.¡± Harald smiled. ¡°But he¡¯s right. You don¡¯t have to, but I¡¯d appreciate your reading his letter. It¡¯ll convey what I¡¯m trying to get at.¡±

    Nessa sucked on her teeth for a moment, considering him, then extended her hand.

    Harald gave her the leather folder, then sat back and watched as she read the four sheets.

    It was amusing to watch the different expressions flicker across her face. Sardonic humor, surprise, frowning focus, and then shock. She glanced at him several times, but he kept his expression studiously blank.

    ¡°Have you searched his study for more pages?¡± she asked when she was done.

    ¡°Yes. Sam and I fair tore it apart. It¡¯s how we learned of the Gustav riddle. There was nothing more.¡±

    She was staring at him in concern, her brows furrowed. ¡°Harald.¡±

    ¡°Yes. Quite.¡± He sipped his coffee again. ¡°I¡¯ve fallen head first into my father¡¯s dealings with a demon prince. I think it¡¯s fair to say that I¡¯m out of my depth. But what he advised, about friends, well. It¡¯s in line with what Vic said. I realized, yesterday, that I¡¯d been blind. I¡¯d thought the only thing that mattered wasn¡¯t obeying direct orders from Vorakhar, to, I don¡¯t know, go sacrifice children or enlist nobles to his cause. I thought as long as I kept my head down and focused on training, that I was being¡­ I don¡¯t know. Smart. Careful. Self-contained.¡±

    ¡°Hmm.¡± She took up her coffee again, but was listening intently.

    ¡°But I was sleepwalking into his influence anyway. Treating Sam as if she were still oathbound. Not telling you and Vic about Vorakhar, or the source of my newfound resolve.¡±

    ¡°To be fair, Vic and I haven¡¯t given you much cause to trust us.¡±

    ¡°Not true. I¡¯m under no illusions as to how you¡¯ve both benefitted from being my friend, but that doesn¡¯t change the fact that you both showed up to help me when I was in need.¡±

    ¡°Vic¡¯s making a fortune off your dealings with Countess Sonora. I¡¯m getting paid to teach beginner classes while living in your home.¡±

    Harald paused. Nessa was staring at him intently. Was she trying to convince him they weren¡¯t friends? Instinct told him this was a test of some kind. Maybe one she didn¡¯t even realize she was effecting.

    ¡°Yes, I know. But why should I expect you both to leverage your expertise without gaining from it?¡±

    ¡°Isn¡¯t that what real friends do?¡± She leaned back, crossed one leg over the other. ¡°Sacrifice themselves for their truest friends?¡±

    ¡°Maybe in the stories, sure.¡± It felt like walking over treacherous ice. ¡°But you and Vic are professionals. You work from commission. Why should I expect you to not charge for your services?¡±

    ¡°Hmm.¡± She pressed her mug against her lower lip. ¡°Very pragmatic of you.¡±

    ¡°Nessa, my back¡¯s against the wall. That Demon Seed is inside me, right now. It¡¯s apparently going to corrupt my class and offer me the kind of power that scared my father. Darius Darrowdelve. I haven¡¯t even had time to think on what I¡¯ve just read, but I¡¯m sure I¡¯ll have a panic attack when I do. So no, I don¡¯t want to waste time evaluating whether you and Vic are as altruistic as you could be. I want to focus instead on surviving. And I know I can¡¯t do that without you both.¡±

    Stolen novel; please report.

    ¡°So you¡¯re hoping for¡­ what exactly? That we¡¯ll become fast friends, that I¡¯ll hold your hand as you walk your dark path?¡±

    Harald smiled. ¡°Something like that. I don¡¯t know. But clearly this won¡¯t work if I keep secrets from you all. So I¡¯ve decided to put all my cards on the table moving forward. You now know as much as I do about this mess. I¡¯d appreciate your sticking around. Training me to use the sword, maybe pointing out when I do something stupid or act in a way that Vorakhar would approve of. Obviously it¡¯s your call.¡±

    ¡°Hmm.¡± She took up the pages again, flipped through them, then tapped their upper edge against her chin. ¡°You¡¯re effectively asking me to get involved with the affairs of demon princes.¡±

    ¡°Indirectly, yes. That¡¯s true.¡±

    ¡°Hmm.¡± Again she tapped her chin. ¡°Are you sure about this? Do you know where I was last night?¡±

    ¡°No, actually. I don¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°I visited the Chopping Block. There¡¯s a man there, Tibbits. Or Lord Tibbits Celestis, as he¡¯s called at court.¡±

    ¡°Celestis? As in House Celestara?¡±

    ¡°A cousin of Lady Melisende, I believe. He¡¯s the man who fixes my glory.¡±

    Harald simply nodded slowly, refusing to look away.

    Nessa¡¯s eyes glittered as she sat forward. ¡°I¡¯m a glory addict, Harald. I¡¯m a washed up Bladeweaver who¡¯s not advanced in years, who was expelled from the Conservatory for ¡®eggregious defects in character¡¯, who¡¯s sold her services to Countess Sonora in a desperate bid to keep herself from working for far worse types. Are you sure you¡¯ve thought this through?¡±

    Harald set his coffee aside. She sat poised as if ready to spring to her feet, tense and coiled like a spring.

    ¡°Hmm.¡± He smiled and looked down. ¡°Tell me something, Nessa. Did you do glory last night?¡±

    Nessa had been poised, but now she froze.

    He waited several seconds, then met her piercing gaze once more. ¡°Hmm?¡±

    Nessa drew herself up as if supremely insulted. Raised her chin, her pallor having turned waxen.

    ¡°You didn¡¯t, did you? But you went to the Chopping Block. You spoke with Lord Tibbits Celestis. You were there, but you held back. Why?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t have to answer that.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re right.¡± Harald kept his tone affable. ¡°But that answer is why I know I can trust you. With everything. Those papers, my condition, my fears. It¡¯s why I¡¯m asking you to stick around. To teach me the sword, to help me navigate these waters, to take part in my dungeon raids. Maybe, one day, to be my friend.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t know me,¡± she hissed.

    ¡°Maybe not.¡± Harald watched her, tried to gauge what she was feeling. She looked panicked, as if about to flee the room. ¡°But neither of us wants me to start preaching. So I¡¯ll leave it at that. I would welcome your sticking around.¡±

    ¡°Sticking around.¡± For a moment she sneered, but then the expression vanished. She didn¡¯t seem to know what to say, so she took up her coffee and drank several hasty gulps.

    Harald fought the urge to belabor his point.

    The moment drew out, the air tense, Nessa staring off to the side as she bounced her foot. Finally she sighed and looked back to him. ¡°I need the scales, and Countess Sonora¡¯s raids aren¡¯t padding my accounts as much as I¡¯d like. So I¡¯ll teach your lessons, and we can discuss the prospect of future raids.¡±

    ¡°Great.¡±

    ¡°But.¡± She raised her chin again. ¡°Any assumptions you make beyond that are your problem. We¡¯re not friends, Harald. This is a business relationship, and you¡¯re the one insisting that it exist. I¡¯ve warned you enough times now as to my¡­¡± She trailed off, seeking the right word.

    Harald cut in. ¡°Understood.¡±

    ¡°Yes, well.¡± She bounced her foot a few times more then crossed her arms and looked away again.

    Harald sipped from his mug, trying to keep his expression calm, to not let his roiling emotions betray themselves. She¡¯d agreed to stay. To even go raiding. But more than that, she¡¯d agreed to do so after learning about the extent of his problems with Vorakhar.

    Which meant their business relationship was far beyond that of a merely professional one.

    No casual instructor would dream of becoming entangled in the affairs of someone so intangled with demon princes.

    ¡°Good morning!¡± Vic¡¯s cheery voice echoed from the entrance hall. ¡°Wake up, you lazy bastards, I need someone to make me coffee.¡±

    ¡°Back here, Vic,¡± called Harald.

    Nessa transformed before his eyes. Her raw, conflicted energy vanished beneath a veneer of calm disinterest.

    ¡°Ah,¡± said Vic, stepping into the archway. ¡°My two most favorite friends in all the world. Am I interrupting?¡±

    ¡°As if you¡¯d care,¡± said Nessa with a smile.

    ¡°It would heighten my joy.¡± Vic was dressed in a stylish new waistcoast of burnished orange tooled with gold thread, his ivory sleeves billowing out to the wrist, his breeches slate blue. His golden hair was freshly washed, his cheeks shaven, his manner cheery and alert. He stepped to the coffee carafe, touched its side, deemed it warm enough, then poured himself a mug.

    Turning, he leaned against the counter then raised a brow in mock surprise. ¡°But Nessa. As awful as you look, and you do look awful, you hardly have the appearance of a glory addict at all. What went wrong?¡±

    ¡°Rot before you die,¡± said Nessa sweetly.

    ¡°The angels preserve me from the rot,¡± said Vic genially. ¡°I¡¯ve yet to dip my wick in a poisoned well, but I suppose it¡¯ll happen sooner than later. Any sign of Sam, Harald?¡±

    ¡°Not yet.¡±

    ¡°Sam?¡± asked Nessa.

    ¡°Our little maid stormed off yesterday after realizing she¡¯s never had a spot of fun in her whole life.¡± Vic shook his head in bemusement. ¡°Her mistake was not asking me for a tour of the best spots in the Shambles. I¡¯d have ensured she compensated for a lifetime of ironing shirts in just one night.¡±

    ¡°Sam¡¯s taking some time off.¡± Harald tried to keep his concern from showing. ¡°She¡¯ll come back when she¡¯s ready.¡±

    ¡°Good,¡± said Nessa.

    ¡°Are we all reconciled, then?¡± Vic glanced brightly from one to the other. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me Harald proposed? Darling, Nessa thinks of you only as a friend. It¡¯s your face, you see. She appreciates handsome men like myself.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d rather marry Harald than spend any of my free time with you,¡± snapped Nessa.

    ¡°And thus are we both slain. I told you she was a killer.¡±

    ¡°I found my father¡¯s secret chamber,¡± said Harald.

    ¡°You what now?¡± Vic dragged out a chair with his foot, turned it about, and sat with the chair back against his chest. ¡°You¡¯re serious?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s serious,¡± confirmed Nessa.

    ¡°And?¡± Vic¡¯s eagerness was tempered by sober interest. ¡°Don¡¯t just sit there, Harald, what did you find? Did your father leave you a fortune?¡±

    ¡°He left me that letter, for starters.¡±

    Vic snatched up the sheaf of papers and immediately started reading. Only to bark out a delighted laugh. ¡°Complete waste of my seed after all?¡±

    ¡°He had a way with words,¡± said Harald, trying not to let Vic¡¯s amusement sting.

    ¡°Hmm, indeed.¡± Vic read the first page with surprising speed, his eyebrows rising ever higher, and when he finished he glanced up. ¡°By the angels, this is rich. Silenthros? Grimarque? I¡¯ve heard those names whispered in the darkest corners, but to learn that they¡¯re real?¡±

    ¡°What did you hear?¡± asked Harald.

    ¡°Shush, I¡¯m reading your private letters.¡± Vic turned to the second page, and paused after the first paragraph. Hesitant for the first time, he looked up at Harald once more. ¡°Harry-boy¡­¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s all right. Keep reading.¡±

    ¡°Well.¡± Vic shook his head, took a gulp from his coffee, and read on. He finished the second page, set it aside, and just moved on to the third without comment.

    Never had Harald seen Vic look so serious and intent.

    ¡°By the angels,¡± he whispered when he finished the third. ¡°Harald, this is serious stuff.¡± He paused, reflecting. ¡°To be honest, I don¡¯t think ¡®serious stuff¡¯ really captures the gravity of what I just read.¡±

    ¡°Hmm,¡± said Harald.

    ¡°Last page.¡± Vic read it, then carefully, as if the paper itself were liable to explode, set the page down and sat back. ¡°Well. Nessa, you¡¯ve obviously read this as well?¡±

    She simply nodded as she sipped her coffee.

    ¡°Darling.¡± Vic considered Harald. ¡°You have my sympathies. That¡¯s quite the letter.¡±

    ¡°Isn¡¯t it.¡± Harald stared into his near-empty mug. ¡°But what can you do? The Seed is in me, and now I¡¯ve got to make the most of it.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a bracing attitude. I would have been driven immediately to drink.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re driven to drink by the act of waking up,¡± said Nessa.

    ¡°True. Still.¡± Vic grimaced and bit his lower lip. ¡°Damn. I can¡¯t believe I¡¯m suggesting this, but is there cause to search out a compassionate Seraphite¡­?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± said Harald.

    ¡°No, of course not, forgive my lapse in judgment.¡± Vic was eying him cautiously. ¡°And that revelation about House Silvershield. I mean, spicy. Though of course it¡¯s a baseless accusation without proof.¡±

    ¡°My father would have known.¡±

    ¡°Assuredly. But nobody else will believe us on his word alone. I wonder what else he could have shared if he¡¯d bothered to finish his letter. Harald, don¡¯t take this the wrong way, but your father was a terrible dad.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll get no arguments from me.¡± Harald took a measured breath. ¡°Well, you read his advice Vic. It dovetails nicely with what you said yesterday. So what do you think? Care to stick around even now?¡±

    Vic tapped his chin and looked over to Nessa. ¡°Your thoughts, darling?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve agreed to remain his tutor and perhaps entertain further raids.¡± Nessa stared straight ahead, refusing to meet Vic¡¯s gaze. ¡°That¡¯s all.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s all, is it?¡± Vic grinned. ¡°I¡¯d just love to see you make that clarification to Vorakhar the next time we meet him in the dungeon. I¡¯m sure he¡¯ll be impressed.¡±

    Nessa flushed but kept her gaze on the far wall.

    ¡°Well, well, well. It said in there he was going to place some scales and Artifacts in the chamber.¡± Vic¡¯s tone turned suspiciously light and uncaring. ¡°Did he?¡±

    ¡°He did,¡± said Harald.

    At which point Vic leaped to his feet. ¡°Then why are we sitting here blathering about unimportant existential details? Lead the way, old chap, lead the way!¡±

    Harald grinned. ¡°You won¡¯t answer my question first?¡±

    ¡°How can I before knowing the quantity of scales involved?¡± Vic put a hand to his chest. ¡°Most unfair for you to even ask me.¡±

    ¡°Right.¡± Harald stood. ¡°Nessa?¡±

    She rose as well, and their trio descended to the gym and then descended to the small hidden chamber below.

    ¡°How quaint!¡± exclaimed Vic as they stepped off the stairs. ¡°But look at this.¡± He marveled at the assortment of weapons. ¡°All Artifacts, you reckon?¡±

    Nessa nodded.

    ¡°Sorry, sorry.¡± Vic gave his head a little shake. ¡°I lost focus there for a second. The scales?¡±

    Harald squatted before it. There was a keyhole, but it proved to be unlocked. He hesitated for just a moment, then lifted the compact lid.

    It was empty, or nearly so: a single scale rested at the bottom upon a cushion of faded velvet.

    Swirling with dusky purples and the blues of twilights, the long, delicate scale was unlike any Harald had ever seen. Faint patterns of light spiraled down its length, delicate and wondrous, and the interior of the chest glowed with its radiance.

    ¡°I¡¯ll be damned,¡± whispered Vic, peering down over Harald¡¯s shoulder. ¡°A Twilight Infinitum. You¡¯re set, Harry-boy. Your troubles are over.¡±

 Chapter 43

    A Twilight Infinitum.

    Heart pounding, Harald reached into the chest and took up the scale. It was light, almost insubstantial. He held it up and drank in its nebulous beauty, feeling as if he held a fragment of the heavens themselves between his fingers.

    ¡°Wow,¡± breathed Nessa, fingers covering her mouth. ¡°An actual Infinitum.¡±

    ¡°Options,¡± said Vic, rubbing his hands together in glee. ¡°That¡¯s what you suddenly have, Harry-boy. Options. Wealth equals power, and you¡¯re holding enough in your fingertips to put you on par with a duke.¡± He considered. ¡°An absolutely destitute duke.¡±

    ¡°Is that enough to pay off your debts?¡± asked Nessa, sliding down the wall to crouch, arms looping around her knees.

    The room was small enough that Harald felt clustered in there with his friends, as if they¡¯d met to whisper in a secret hidey-hole.

    ¡°No.¡± He turned the scale about. ¡°Sam¡¯s kept the accounts, and she said we¡¯ve racked up almost six Infinitum¡¯s worth of debt. Just paying the interest alone is a couple of Horizon¡¯s a month.¡±

    Vic let out a low whistle. ¡°By the angels, Harald, your family doesn¡¯t mess around.¡±

    Nessa watched him, expression sober. ¡°Are you tempted to pay off your debtors for another five months?¡±

    ¡°No.¡± Harald couldn¡¯t tear his gaze from the fluted scale. ¡°To what end? So that we can enjoy this big house a little longer? No, I made my peace with losing Darrowdelve Manor. I¡¯ll put this scale to some other use.¡±

    ¡°I know of several potentially lucrative investments,¡± began Vic, but Nessa cut him off.

    ¡°You¡¯ve Ascended to your first Throne. That means it¡¯ll take 100,000 scales to Ascend to your Second. You could do so right now.¡±

    ¡°And the Fallen Angel would leave me with nine Horizons?¡±

    ¡°No, you¡¯d absorb all of it at once, leaving you just 100,000 shy of your third Throne. There¡¯s no partial absorption.¡±

    ¡°The Fallen Angel isn¡¯t a banker,¡± said Vic, lowering to one knee beside Harald. ¡°Though there are banks that will gladly exchange that Infinitum for lesser scales. For a commission, of course. And then turn around and sell it to would-be dukes who are in need of an Infinitum to prove their worth.¡±

    ¡°I could pay off Countess Sonora,¡± mused Harald. ¡°That would leave me with eight Horizons left over.¡±

    ¡°Indeed, a wise decision seeing as she¡¯s bleeding you dry with her own interest rates.¡± Vic half reached out for the scale himself then drew his hand back. ¡°Absorbing the remaining eight would place you within a stone¡¯s throw of reaching your third Throne.¡±

    ¡°Talk about a rapid ascent,¡± said Nessa. ¡°From just having your Cosmos to coming close to the Throne of War. Not bad, Harald.¡±

    ¡°Not bad,¡± he whispered. Then he frowned and closed his fist about the scale. ¡°I¡¯m not sure that¡¯s the way to go.¡±

    ¡°No?¡± Vic brightened. ¡°Then let me tell you of this opportunity that¡¯s as fleeting as it is lucrative. I¡¯ve learned of a shipment from Marheim that will¡ª¡±

    ¡°Sorry, Vic. I¡¯m not interested in investing.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t be so hasty, Harald. You need to broaden the scope of your vision. You could absorb the eight, but then you¡¯d still be 200,000 scales short of Ascending to your third Throne. Given that you¡¯re only Level 1, how long do you think it will take for you to earn that kind of wealth? Your meteoric ascent will slow to a crawl. On the other hand, you could invest, say, half that amount, and with a little luck double it in under a year.¡±

    Vic raised an eyebrow. ¡°Think on it. On one hand you¡¯d be laboring for two, three years to level your class and earn the remaining 200,000. Or you could invest and reach your third Throne in half the time.¡±

    Harald rubbed his chin, considering.

    ¡°What I¡¯m outlining, darling, is the best, smartest, and safest way to grow in power.¡± Vic finally sat back against the wall opposite Nessa. ¡°Think: when the Fallen Angel first crashed to the world and phased into the depths, there was a mad scramble for scales, yes? Some of our most colorful legends hail from that time, as everybody consumed scales with wanton abandon, relishing in their newfound strength. But after a few decades of orgiastic absorption, something new and revolutionary took place.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s so tiresome when he gets excited,¡± said Nessa, but she was smiling despite herself.

    ¡°What?¡± asked Harald, not interested in guessing.

    ¡°The rise of the first Houses.¡± Vic held up a finger. ¡°Flutic was but a backwater then, but certain wise and enterprising individuals realized that scales could be more than a means to personal power; they were wealth personified, and could be bartered, traded for, hoarded. Thus did Flutic¡¯s rise as an international hub of trade and wealth begin. Because those grandees realized that yes, you could absorb a Horizon¡¯s Whisper or an Infinitum and empower one person, or you could engage in trade and investments, and empower a hundred.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re saying I should use this Infinitum to empower House Darrowdelve?¡± asked Harald dryly.

    ¡°Don¡¯t play the fool, Harry-boy. What I¡¯m saying is that you could take a page from the founders of Flutic¡¯s greatness and think beyond Ascending to your second or even third Throne. Turn that Infinitum into two. Into three. Yes, it requires delaying your gratification, but five years from now you could be in possession of a Nightshard. Then you could blow right past the Second, the Third, and Ascend to the fourth.¡±

    ¡°By playing at merchant for five years,¡± said Harald.

    ¡°Don¡¯t put it like that! The longer you delay your gratification, the quicker you will ultimately climb. Think: invest, reap. Or absorb, and you¡¯re done.¡±

    ¡°Darling,¡± drawled Nessa. ¡°Would you by any chance be drawing a commission from these investments?¡±

    Vic reared back. ¡°I¡¯m insulted! Nessa! How could you ask such a thing? Of course I would. But my gain would be as nothing compared to Harald¡¯s. I¡¯d walk away with a tidy little sum, assuredly, but Harald? He¡¯d be wealthy beyond his dreams.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s that easy?¡± asked Harald.

    ¡°Well. There is, as I said, a modicum of luck involved.¡±

    ¡°Hmm.¡± Harald had to force himself to release the scale as he set it back in the chest. ¡°Food for thought. Let¡¯s take a look at what else my father left me.¡±

    They turned to the weapon¡¯s rack.

    ¡°A shield, a sword, a very small ax, and three daggers.¡± Vic stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankles. ¡°If they¡¯re indeed all Artifacts, that¡¯s quite the haul.¡±

    ¡°How do I figure out what they do?¡± asked Harald, rising to stand before them.

    ¡°Pick each one up,¡± said Nessa. ¡°It¡¯ll reveal itself to you. Mind that you can only possess an Artifact for each Throne you¡¯ve Ascended. With your Dawnblade that¡¯ll limit you to one more once you absorb your scale.¡±

    ¡°True.¡± Harald considered, then, thinking of Sam, he picked up the shield. It had a classical look to it, kite shaped to help protect the legs, rimmed in bronze and with a central raised bronze boss. The face of it was of stretched leather, the whole of it painted white with a ring of black roses intertwined around the boss.

    Artifact: Thornguard

    Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.Quality: Rare

    Special Ability: Piercing Embrace

    Activation: Automatically triggers upon the shield receiving a physical strike. In defense, the Thornguard unfurls a mass of magical thorn vines that entangle the offending weapon or limb, halting further attacks and potentially disarming the assailant.

    +2 to Constitution while wielded

    Limitation: The density and duration of the thorn vines are proportionate to the number of Ascended Thrones the wielder has claimed. Without this connection, the vines may prove less formidable, serving more as a brief impediment than a substantial barrier.

    ¡°Impressive,¡± said Harald, handing the Thornguard to Nessa and taking up the needle-like sword. It was as long as his forearm, somewhere between a long dagger and a short-sword, its blade flexible, its point so sharp as to seem to fade into the air instead of coming to an end.

    Artifact: The Point

    Quality: Rare

    Special Ability: Dictum¡¯s Thrust

    Activation: Upon command, The Point extends to lance-like proportions, delivering a swift and surprising strike. This rapid extension lasts only momentarily before the weapon retracts to its original size.

    +2 to Dexterity while wielded

    Limitation: The maximum length to which The Point can extend, and thus its reach, scales with the number of Ascended Thrones the wielder has claimed, reflecting their growing mastery and power.

    ¡°Another Rare Artifact,¡± said Harald, turning it about in his hand. The urge to experiment with it was strong, but he restrained absorbing it into his Cosmos needlessly and instead handed it to Nessa. The moment was increasingly feeling surreal; to be casually examining a wealth of Artifacts was the stuff of dreams, not reality.

    Next was the hatchet with the golden head. Its haft was of polished hickory, slightly curved, the wood grain rich beneath the polish. The head itself was about the size of Harald¡¯s hand and seemingly made entirely from the soft metal.

    Artifact: Goldchop

    Quality: Masterwork

    Special Ability: Dancing Partner

    Activation: Upon command, the Goldchop will animate and hover about its wielder, attacking any foe that comes within its reach. The Goldchop will duplicate itself as many times as the wielder has Ascended Thrones.

    +2 to Dexterity while wielded

    +2 to Strength while wielded

    Limitation: Limitation: The lethality of the Goldchop corresponds to the number of Ascended Thrones.

    ¡°Whoa,¡± said Harald, turning the Goldchop about in his hands. ¡°This one¡¯s Masterwork.¡±

    ¡°Masterwork?¡± Vic looked up from the Thornguard. ¡°You¡¯re serious? That¡¯s worth an Infinitum right there.¡±

    ¡°A Twilight Infinitum? This one Artifact?¡±

    ¡°Absolutely. Technically. It would depend on finding a buyer willing to part with that much wealth for what the ax can do. What does it do?¡±

    Harald handed the Goldchop to Nessa. ¡°It hovers around its wielder and attacks anybody that comes close, duplicating itself as many times as its wielder has Ascended Thrones.¡±

    Nessa let out a low whistle. ¡°This is a formidable piece of work. I imagine you could attack as you wished with your main weapon as this guarded your flank and rear.¡±

    Vic winked. ¡°Darling, my Goldchop is available any time to guard your¡­ never mind.¡± He coughed into his fist as Nessa leveled a deadly stare in his direction. ¡°I mean, yes. Of course, it would take the wealth of a major House to purchase something so valuable, and they¡¯d no doubt give it to one of their Gold-ranked raiders. Which would mean they¡¯d be sporting four or five axes at a time. Formidable indeed.¡±

    Harald couldn¡¯t help but laugh huskily. He felt feverish, almost delirious. ¡°I¡¯m guessing these daggers are a set.¡±

    After all, they were identical. Their blades wavered like silver snakes, their hilts of polished steel, their grips short enough to indicate that they were meant to be thrown.

    Harald picked up the center dagger.

    Artifact: Phaseblades

    Quality: Rare

    Special Ability: Parts the Reeds

    Activation: When thrown, a Phaseblade will pass through obstacles as if they were air. Walls, armor, shields, nothing mundane can prevent the Phaseblade from hitting its target.

    +2 to Dexterity while wielded

    Limitation: The number of obstacles a Phaseblade can pass through is limited to the number of Phaseblades left in the wielder¡¯s possession after the cast.

    ¡°Another Rare,¡± said Harald, amazed. ¡°Looks like my father really came through.¡±

    ¡°Three Rares and a Masterwork?¡± Nessa nodded in mock surprise. ¡°Would that my father had left me such a haul.¡±

    ¡°Alas,¡± said Vic, ¡°you just had to settle for his leaving.¡±

    ¡°Harald, darling?¡± Nessa extended a hand. ¡°Lend me one of those throwing knives?¡±

    ¡°Best you take all three,¡± said Harald. ¡°Their effectiveness drops with each one thrown.¡±

    ¡°Oh, interesting,¡± said Vic. ¡°Assuredly a set, then. Well. My rough math indicates that your father left you the equivalent of two Infinitums and three Horizon¡¯s Whispers, or about 2,300,000 scales. That¡¯s¡­ that¡¯s a princely sum.¡±

    ¡°It is, isn¡¯t it?¡± Harald turned the sinuous dagger over in his hand.

    ¡°The Goldchop is obviously the true prize,¡± said Nessa, handing it back to Harald. ¡°With it even an amateur swordsman as yourself could delve far deeper into the dungeon than would otherwise¡­¡± She cut herself off as Vic groaned.

    ¡°Nessa, honestly.¡± Vic put his hand to his brow. ¡°Realize whom you¡¯re talking to. Now Harald¡¯s going to hare off at the first opportunity to raid the 20th Level.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t tempt me,¡± said Harald, setting the weapons back one by one.

    ¡°So, Harry-boy.¡± Vic sat forward. ¡°You need to hear me out on these investment opportunities. If we liquidate¡ª¡±

    ¡°Not just now,¡± said Harald. ¡°I appreciate the offer, I really do. And I may take you up on it. But first¡­ I need to think this over carefully.¡±

    ¡°Wise,¡± said Nessa, rising with a sigh. ¡°That much wealth? Whatever you decide will have tremendous consequences.¡±

    ¡°Well, the auction is taking place very soon,¡± said Vic. ¡°If you decide to liquidate any of those Artifacts, it¡¯ll be the perfect opportunity to get as good a price as you could hope for. But we¡¯d need to alert Master Ling as soon as possible. He¡¯ll want to advertise their imminent sale to the Houses so they can examine the weapons before the auction.¡±

    ¡°Noted.¡± Harald rubbed at his face. ¡°Though for now I¡¯m going to leave everything here.¡±

    Vic went to protest but caught himself and grinned. ¡°I¡¯ll say nothing more. It¡¯s just so hard to be discrete when your entire purpose in life is to achieve a sybaritic lifestyle.¡±

    Harald clapped Vic on the shoulder and led the way up the stairs. He could have insisted the other two go first, but that went exactly against what he was trying to build between them.

    Risks, payoffs.

    Stepping out into the gym, he took up a practice sword and approached Gustav, summoning Abyssal Attunement as he drew close.

    As Vic and Nessa watched, he struck the dummy lightly across the chest with his wooden blade. The black energy of the abyss surged, and Gustav made no move to block or evade the strike.

    The wall emitted a grinding sound, and then the hidden door slid closed.

    ¡°Impressive,¡± said Vic, leaning in close. ¡°Even knowing that it¡¯s there I can¡¯t detect a seam.¡±

    ¡°Dwarven work,¡± said Nessa. ¡°They must have used Earthblood. Unsurpassed in the world.¡±

    ¡°Well.¡± Harald felt rung out by the revelations and sudden wealth. He could easily have gone to bed, or sat out in the patio drinking wine for the rest of the day, mulling things over.

    Instead, he inhaled sharply and looked to Nessa. ¡°Ready to train?¡±

    She laughed. ¡°I shouldn¡¯t be surprised, but I am. Yes. Of course. It¡¯s why I came here today.¡±

    ¡°That and to bathe in our wit and charm,¡± said Vic. ¡°You know what? I am so invigorated by the ludicrous amount of wealth that we just saw that I believe I shall train with you both. Yes! Why not? Even Vic the Rapier Regent can stoop to training with the plebians once in awhile.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll regret it,¡± smiled Nessa. ¡°I¡¯ll make you sweat out all that wine you¡¯ve been drinking.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve only had the one glass today.¡± Vic beamed. ¡°And I am far too exemplary a physical specimen to be discomfited by your little training regimes. Do your worst, Blade Mentor.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re mad,¡± said Harald admiringly as a predatory looked entered Nessa¡¯s eyes.

    Vic smiled. ¡°Quite possibly.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll begin with a warm-up.¡± Nessa crossed her arms. ¡°Fetch a weighted blade, and do the following with the right foot forward: a hundred vertical cuts, fifty diagonal cuts from each side, a hundred cuts from below in a wide circle, a hundred more from below with straight arms, a hundred infinity rotations, then a hundred cuts from the right with the long edge, then a hundred from the left with the short edge.¡± Nessa¡¯s smile grew sweet. ¡°Then we¡¯ll do it again with the left foot forward.¡±

    Vic¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°That¡¯s not training, that¡¯s indulging your sadistic fetish.¡±

    Harald merely shook his head as he strode over to the bag. ¡°Just think on all the ways you can spend my money, and time will fly.¡±

    ¡°True.¡± Vic¡¯s expression lit up. ¡°True! To be fair, that¡¯s one of my favorite past times, any way. Let¡¯s get to it.¡±

    They trained for an hour. Drills followed by footwork followed by some demonstrations on how to twist binds to one¡¯s advantage.

    Harald focused intently throughout¡ªNessa gave him no choice¡ªbut part of his mind was far away. When finally they set the practice swords down and stomped wearily upstairs¡ªHarald exhausted now by his morning run, fitness training, and hour with Nessa¡ªhe still was deep in thought.

    Vic, indefatigably cheerful, set about making them lunch, a creation of his own which involved pepper sauce, minced tuna, grilled onions, and toasted slices of stale bread.

    Nobody complained.

    Despite Vic¡¯s good cheer, he seemed to know not to badger Harald. Nessa ate in ruminative silence. When the meal was done, Harald pushed his plate away and sat back.

    ¡°Well, I¡¯ve reached a decision.¡±

    ¡°Whoa,¡± said Vic, raising both palms. ¡°Wait. Stop. You¡¯ve not heard any details on my investment opportunities. Harald, they¡¯ll have you salivating like a hound.¡±

    ¡°Be that as it may.¡± Harald took a deep breath. ¡°I know what I¡¯m going to do with the Artifacts and scale. But seeing as Sam¡¯s going to be part of this equation, I want to wait for her return before laying it out. The moment she does, however, I¡¯ll tell you what we¡¯re going to do with all that wealth.¡±

    ¡°And if she doesn¡¯t return?¡± asked Nessa.

    ¡°She will.¡± Harald nodded with grim certainty. ¡°I know she will.¡±

 Chapter 44

    Sam didn¡¯t return until three days later.

    Harald ignored Vic¡¯s badgering, Nessa¡¯s pointed stares. He refused to open the secret door again, and instead threw himself completely into his training. It still felt strange to tackle his morning runs alone, to work on the weights without Sam¡¯s encouragement, analysis, and feedback.

    Vic anointed himself the official Darrowdelve Manor chef, and set to cooking elaborate feasts of dubious quality. He claimed that he received inspiration from the Fallen Angel herself, and it was she that dictated that he glaze figs in bacon fat and then stuff them with cheese, or caramelize root vegetables in honey and acorns in the oven before mashing the whole of it into soup with grilled eels and balsamic vinegar.

    The food was edible, if more often than not nauseatingly rich.

    But Harald didn¡¯t complain. He exercised, he ate, he slept. He looked forward most to his classes with Nessa. To untangling the logic of the blade. He quickly came to love the way the longsword had begun feeling like an extension of himself. It happened rarely, moments when he lost himself in a drill, or relaxed enough to intuit how to move, where to turn, what to anticipate.

    But when he did, it felt sublime. It never happened with the wooden training swords, but with the Dawnblade it would glimmer to the fore, the sheer number of hours spent drilling and striking, flowing from guard to guard bringing forth a state of mindless focus that allowed his instincts to shine.

    If he felt this way after only a couple of weeks¡¯ training, how must it feel after a year? After five?

    Though the more he learned about handling the sword, the greater the gulf of what remained to learn yawned.

    ¡°That¡¯s the way of it,¡± Nessa said one evening after he¡¯d badgered her into a second training session. They were both drinking water by the patio steps, the sound of crickets sawing against the distant trundle of carriage wheels. ¡°Especially with the longsword. Train hard, and you can quickly become proficient with the basics. How to hold the sword, how to strike, how to step. But to progress beyond that crudest of understandings? That¡¯s when things feel as if they¡¯ve slowed down to a crawl.¡±

    ¡°I can see that.¡± Harald scowled at this tin cup. ¡°When our swords touch I¡¯m overwhelmed with options. To press or surrender, to push in for strong leverage or allow a weak one to work in my favor. The result is paralysis.¡±

    ¡°Only for now.¡± Nessa smiled at him. ¡°I recall my first year vividly. I would sneak out of my father¡¯s house to train with his fencing instructor in the evenings. I spent all day longing for the moment I would step into the training hall and join the other students. The feel of the sword in my hand. At first it felt so right, and then, gradually, it felt overwhelming. I thought myself incompetent, unequal to the task.¡±

    ¡°What did you do?¡±

    ¡°I persevered. In a real fight, you barely have time to think. You must rely on training and instinct, on reflexes and the desire to win at all costs. The only way to achieve that is through countless hours of quality training. To study under a master who corrects your mistakes, your bad habits. To drill and drill, spar and spar, so that one day, when you finally find yourself facing a foe who wants you dead, you don¡¯t seize up, you don¡¯t panic, you don¡¯t trip over your feet.¡±

    Nessa looked away across the dusky garden. ¡°You simply do what you¡¯ve done a hundred thousand times before, and you cut that man down, no matter who he is.¡±

    Harald nodded. ¡°I guess I¡¯ve got a ways to go, then.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t feel discouraged.¡± Nessa glanced back, considered him. ¡°You¡¯ve talent for the sword. I don¡¯t say that lightly. You¡¯ve a feel for it, which is important, but a willingness to commit which is just as crucial. Now you just need to familiarize yourself with the flow of combat so that you simply do what needs doing when the time comes.¡±

    Harald grinned and finished his cup. ¡°Speaking of, shall we continue downstairs?¡±

    Nessa laughed despairingly. ¡°I¡¯m done, good sir. You need to rest.¡±

    ¡°Sure.¡± Harald took up their wooden blades and stowed them in the long bag. ¡°I¡¯ll rest. Soon.¡±

    Day followed day. Nobody came by the house. The date of the auction was creeping closer.

    Master Ling¡¯s men arrived one morning to collect every piece that was to be sold. Harald braced himself, told himself he was ready, and signed the paperwork that was presented to him without really reading it. Fortunately Vic was there to snatch the documents back and scan them, then politely suggest three amendments.

    Harald left him to it. Instead, he trailed the movers who strode efficiently into the house with straps and reinforced blankets, wrapping up one piece of furniture after another and carrying it to the carts waiting out front.

    One by one the parts of his childhood disappeared, sliding out the front door to leave mute traces of their having existed behind: faded rectangles against the walls, islands of dust that had accumulated under objects, glaring open spaces, new echoes that hadn¡¯t sounded before in suddenly barren rooms.

    Vic was everywhere, laughing, commenting, annotating the list of packaged goods. Harald felt himself a ghost in his own home.

    It was the packaging of his mother¡¯s harp that hurt most.

    It hadn¡¯t been played since her death; she¡¯d taught him basic techniques, but he¡¯d never wanted to touch it after she was gone. The movers wrapped it tightly, and then with great care hefted it and carried it away.

    It was as if they removed the final shadow of her ghost, and Harald felt a lurch in his chest as it disappeared.

    ¡°You can insist that they leave it,¡± said Vic quietly, appearing at his elbow. ¡°We can easily afford to keep anything you value now.¡±

    ¡°No.¡± Harald considered, then shook his head. ¡°I¡¯m losing the house. Where would I put my mother¡¯s harp? Any of it? I¡¯ve been feeling like a ghost, watching the pieces be carried away, but the truth is this house died years ago. I¡¯ve been living with ghosts, and now they¡¯re finally being put to rest.¡±

    ¡°Poetic,¡± said Vic. ¡°But all right. Oh. Look who we have here.¡±

    Sam stepped into the second parlor, looking as lost and shocked as Harald felt. She had a large pack over one shoulder, and wore a tunic of vibrant emerald green, the cloth rich but sturdy and cinched at the waist with a broad leather belt studded in brass. Over this she wore fitted trousers of a deep, earthen brown, tough enough for raiding but cut to flatter. Her boots were also new, made of supple leather dyed the color of aged wine, rising to mid-calf and buckled with an air of practicality and style.

    Her golden hair was worn loose save for a band that kept it from her blue eyes, and around her neck hung a simple cord adorned with a score of heavy silver rings. The tattooed tips of a red-yellow feathers emerged from her tunic to rise up the side of her neck, the colors smoldering and beautifully inked.

    ¡°Sam,¡± said Harald, his throat closing tight. ¡°You came back.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re taking everything today?¡± Her protest was clear, half-panicked.

    ¡°Yes. The auction¡¯s in two days.¡±

    ¡°Right. Of course.¡± She took a deep breath. ¡°Of course.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ it¡¯s strangely unsettling.¡± He smiled apologetically. ¡°Which is at once an obvious thing that it would be right? And yet, on some level, I¡¯d thought I¡¯d be more at peace with it.¡±

    She nodded briskly. ¡°I¡¯m going to step outside.¡±

    And she strode out of the parlor toward the back of the house.

    Vic gave him a nudge. ¡°Go on.¡±

    Harald hurried after.

    Sam stood at the edge of the stone patio, gazing out over the garden, taking deep breaths.

    Harald moved up alongside her, studied her for a moment, then joined her in looking out over the untamed wilderness.

    ¡°Not how I envisioned my return,¡± she said at last, and then gave a broken laugh. ¡°I had it all figured out. But then I saw the carts, everything being brought outside, and I¡­ I just wanted to vomit.¡±

    Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± said Harald. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t be.¡± She flashed him a smile, and in that brief expression he saw something new in her, a complexity, a sharpness, a focus that there hadn¡¯t been before. ¡°Perhaps this is best. I came to explain how things had to change, and what better way to do it then in the midst of this chaos?¡±

    Harald crossed his arms, listened.

    Sam took another deep breath and then turned to face him full on. ¡°Harald. It¡¯s¡­ I¡¯ve done a lot of thinking these past few days. I spoke with a friend, and they advised me to just sit and think and until my thoughts ran clear. It took two full days. It was¡­ it was the most uncomfortable sensation.¡± She smiled brokenly. ¡°The closer I came to where I needed to be, the more I wanted to jump up and run out of that room. But¡­ I stuck with it. And realized a few things.¡±

    Harald listened intently, meeting her bright blue gaze.

    ¡°I can¡¯t keep on living in this house, for one. I can¡¯t continue being the Sam I used to be.¡± It all came out in a rush. ¡°Everything needs to change so that I can continue doing what I truly want to do with my life. And that¡¯s raiding, that¡¯s growing my class, that¡¯s discovering myself, my best self, my truest, strongest self.¡± She grimaced, her hands opening and closing, and then forced a smile. ¡°I thought maybe I¡¯d want nothing more to do with you. That felt like the appropriate response. But it wasn¡¯t true. Our relationship¡­ it¡¯s profoundly broken and messed up. But I still value you. It¡¯s true what I said before: you¡¯re like a brother to me. But.¡±

    Harald raised his brows, prompting her to continue.

    ¡°But you¡¯re not my brother. And that¡¯s not the only way I feel about you. I¡­ I hate you, I loath you, and sometimes I want to¡­ just, do extremely unsisterly things, and¡ªand¡ª!¡± She wiped tears from her eyes, smiling widely, her expression at once self-mocking and desperate. ¡°And it¡¯s all twisted up into an awful, tangled knot. And I want none of it. I want to cut that knot away, free myself from that past, but somehow also remain a part of your raiding party?¡±

    Harald nodded, sympathetic.

    ¡°Because that¡¯s what I want. To fight next to you, to salvage scales, to rise. I know that to be true, a core truth. But I need to continue finding myself, discovering who I am away from you, from Darrowdelve Manor, all of it. So.¡±

    ¡°I hear you,¡± said Harald softly. ¡°You¡¯re absolutely right.¡±

    She studied him, not exactly suspicious, or surprised, but awaiting a ¡®but¡¯ of some kind.

    ¡°I¡¯ve done a lot of thinking since you left, too. And realized that I¡¯ve been a self-centered ass. I¡¯ve been so focused on my father, on Vorakhar, on the Demon Seed and feeling like a hero-in-the-making that I didn¡¯t stop to think if I was being a friend. Or a pseudo-brother.¡±

    Sam frowned, listening intently.

    ¡°I want to support you in whatever you need, Sam. I care deeply about you. Because you¡¯re also the not-sister I¡¯ve always had. And yes, our friendship, our relationship, is profoundly fucked up. But I¡¯d like to work on healing it. Even if that means not seeing you for months, or years, or however long you need. Whatever you decide you want, what¡¯s best, I support you all the way.¡±

    ¡°You do?¡± Tears came to her eyes and she laughed despairingly. ¡°Gods, I¡¯m still doing it.¡± She looked up as she wiped at her face. ¡°Still putting your opinion at the very top of the world.¡± She shook her head despairingly, but smiled at him still, that broken smile ¡°But thank you, Harald. That¡­ that¡¯s more affirming than you can understand.¡±

    ¡°Of course. It turns out that while I¡¯ve become very good at getting up for morning runs, I¡¯m still pretty terrible at just about everything else.¡± He smiled apologetically. ¡°So, please, tell me what you need. You¡¯ve given me so much, Sam. It¡¯s my turn to give you everything I can.¡±

    She laughed despairingly once more and turned away. For a moment she just stood there, head hanging low, shoulders shaking, and then she drew a sudden, savage inhale and looked up at the sky again. ¡°He told me it would take more than a couple of epiphanies to break old habits, to change who I was. I guess he was right.¡±

    Harald wanted to ask to whom she was referring, but didn¡¯t know if he had the right.

    But she glanced back over her bright emerald shoulder and answered his thoughts. ¡°Furthak. The smith who made my armor? He¡¯s helped me a lot. Warned me. He told me I wasn¡¯t ready to come speak to you, but I thought he was wrong. Knew it. And I think I was right.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m glad you took the risk. But you didn¡¯t have to. I¡¯d have waited as long as necessary for you to reach out.¡±

    ¡°And that¡¯s why I felt like I could come back now. Even though.¡± She took another shuddery breath. ¡°Even though things still have to change.¡±

    ¡°Well, if it¡¯s of any help, they¡¯ve been changing at a pretty quick clip.¡±

    ¡°You mean Master Ling, the auction?¡±

    ¡°Not quite. I found my father¡¯s hidden room.¡±

    ¡°You did?¡± She took a sudden stride toward him and gripped his arm, expression earnest, shocked. ¡°You found it? How?¡±

    ¡°I hit Gustav with my abyss Ability. Turns out that was the trigger. Kind of. A secret door opened, and stairs led down to a tiny chamber. In it was a letter from my father, an Infinitum scale, and four Artifact weapons.¡±

    Sam¡¯s eyebrows kept rising higher and higher. ¡°An Infinitum¡­? A letter? What did he say?¡±

    ¡°You should read it yourself. Vic and Nessa already have. It¡¯s¡­ it¡¯s pretty much what you¡¯d expect from my dad, part insult, part horrifying revelation about Vorakhar and my Demon Seed.¡±

    ¡°And an Infinitum?¡± She blinked. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ not enough.¡±

    ¡°No. Not for the manor. Not for all this stuff. But more than enough for what I¡¯ve got planned. I¡¯ve been waiting for you before telling the other two.¡±

    ¡°For me?¡± She frowned. ¡°Vic must have gone mad.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s been channeling it into some pretty horrendous cooking. I¡¯ve not had the heart to stop him.¡±

    Sam stared at him, gave a half-laugh of disbelief, then pressed her hand to her temple. ¡°It¡¯s as if the past three days never happened. Everything¡¯s swirling and flowing forward again. But those three days did happen. I¡¯ve changed, Harald.¡±

    He nodded soberly. ¡°I¡¯d say that¡¯s a good thing, if my opinion mattered. Nice tattoo, by the way.¡±

    She touched the tips of the crimson feathers on the side of her neck and smiled a private smile. ¡°Thank you. Well.¡± Another deep breath, and she closed her eyes. For a moment they remained thus in silence, and then she exhaled and opened them. ¡°Shall we call Vic and Nessa?¡±

    ¡°Your call. Only if you want to.¡±

    ¡°I do.¡± Her nod was decisive. ¡°I want to be part of this. That¡¯s why I came back.¡±

    ¡°Then let¡¯s help Vic with getting the movers out, and then we¡¯ll talk, the four of us.¡±

    *

    It took them till the Second Bell in the afternoon for the auction men to finally depart and Vic to hustle them all downstairs. He insisted on bringing wine in order to celebrate whatever decision Harald had made, convinced, as he told them several times, that it was the one and only correct decision, and involved the three investment schemes he¡¯d not ceased talking about these three days past.

    Sam stood apart from the others, her smile pained, Nessa¡¯s welcome and Vic¡¯s wink doing little to put her at ease. She deflected Vic¡¯s questions, promising to answer later, and he was easily dissuaded.

    So that finally they were gathered in the small chamber by scale-light, clustered in a tight knot.

    ¡°Sam needs to read my father¡¯s letter first,¡± said Harald firmly.

    ¡°Another five minutes¡¯ delay?¡± Vic sagged back against the wall. ¡°My heart. It can¡¯t take it. I feel faint.¡±

    ¡°Oh please, do faint,¡± said Nessa dryly. ¡°That¡¯ll give us at least a couple of minutes¡¯ silence.¡±

    Vic scowled exaggeratedly at her.

    Sam took the four sheets of parchment and set to reading.

    Harald couldn¡¯t help but watch her expressions with intent interest. She didn¡¯t disappoint. Dismay, shock, horror. She¡¯d glance up at him on occasion, eyes wide, only to dive back in. When she was finally done, she set the parchments down, hands shaking, and covered her mouth.

    ¡°I know. I¡¯ve had days to try and come to terms with it all, and it only gets worse the more I think about it.¡± Harald crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. ¡°This Demon Seed will surely undo me unless I fight it with all my might, and even then that won¡¯t be enough. It¡¯s too powerful. My father was a strong man, and he couldn¡¯t stomach what it promised him, what it would do to him.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t have to do anything,¡± said Sam quietly. ¡°You can just stop. Never go back down into the dungeon again.¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s not get crazy here,¡± cut in Vic. ¡°He definitely has to do something, especially with that scale. In fact¡ª¡±

    ¡°I want to fight.¡± Harald spoke to Sam, their gazes locked. ¡°Maybe it¡¯s due to my new Nature, or maybe my new Nature just reflects who I am now. But I¡¯m not going to run.¡±

    ¡°You want to avenge your mother?¡± asked Nessa quietly.

    ¡°More than that. I¡¯ve this foolish memory of myself as a child¡ª¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve got those,¡± interjected Vic sympathetically.

    ¡°¡ªand I tell my mother why I want to be strong.¡± Harald smiled ruefully. ¡°It made sense to me when I was six, and only just started ringing true once more. I want to be strong to help others. To help everyone in Flutic who has no idea as to what¡¯s going on with this celestial war. To help that angel I saw. To help you three. I want to make a difference, but to do that I have to be strong. And for better or worse, I now have the Demon Seed. So I have to find a way to master it.¡±

    Sam was slowly shaking her head in horror.

    ¡°Which is why he¡¯s decided to entrust me with his entire fortune,¡± said Vic brightly.

    ¡°Vic? Darling?¡± Nessa leveled a flat and dangerous glare at him. ¡°If you don¡¯t get yourself under control I¡¯m going to hurt you.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re right! You¡¯re right. I¡¯m sorry.¡± Vic rubbed his face. ¡°It¡¯s just that the proximity to so much wealth makes me manic. I feel giddy and like crying, all at once.¡±

    ¡°I know I can¡¯t succeed without you three. The fates have thrown us together. Our past has been¡­¡± Harald sought the right world.

    ¡°Fucked up,¡± said Sam.

    ¡°Insincere,¡± offered Vic.

    ¡°Based on manipulation and lies,¡± said Nessa.

    ¡°Complicated.¡± Harald forced a smile. ¡°But it doesn¡¯t need to continue that way. These past few weeks have been intense for all of us. But for better or worse, they¡¯ve brought us to a turning point. We can resolve to move forward together, to fight to be our best selves, or we can fragment, splinter, let our weaknesses govern us, and fall away into the darkness.¡±

    ¡°I love it when he gets like this,¡± Vic whispered to Sam. ¡°It¡¯s so inspiring.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m serious.¡± Harald looked from one to the next. ¡°I can¡¯t do this alone. My father literally said as much. I¡¯ll fail and be corrupted by the Seed without even realizing it. Vic was right about needing to think long term, in needing to invest in strategies that will bear fruit down the road instead of going for immediate gratification today.¡±

    ¡°Yes!¡± Vic pumped his fist, grabbed Nessa by the arm and planted a loud kiss on her cheek. ¡°Harald, you¡¯re not going to regret this. I can¡¯t guarantee anything, but that shouldn¡¯t¡ª¡±

    ¡°Hear me out, Vic.¡±

    Vic froze.

    ¡°That¡¯s why I¡¯ve decided to split the Infinitum four ways. Each of us will get two Horizon¡¯s Whispers and five Zenith Tides to do with as we wish. I¡¯m also going to split the Artifacts amongst our number.¡±

    Nessa¡¯s face turned pale as she clenched her jaw. Vic lurched forward, caught himself at the last moment, then sagged back against the wall.

    Sam simply stared at him as if he¡¯d started spouting elvish.

    ¡°You can do with the scales and Artifacts what you wish. No strings attached. But.¡± And here Harald gave a pained smile. ¡°It¡¯s my hope we all use these resources to Ascend together, and then continue to train together, to raid together, and to help each other grow. I want to become a hero out of legend, a true monster when it comes to power¡ªbut not that kind of monster. Which is why I¡¯m asking you three to walk with me. To, as my father said, keep my aim true.¡±

    Harald took a deep, shaky breath, and forced himself to keep smiling. ¡°So. What do you guys think?¡±

 Scheduling Update

    I''ve been doing a lot of napkin math behind the scenes, trying to optimize my writing/publishing schedule so that I can both keep Thrones going at a steady pace, and write Gods of the Game #3 and Immortal Great Souls #4 this year.

    It''s a lot.

    For now, what makes the most sense is to reduce the publishing schedule from 3/week to 2/week (Tues/Friday). That will allow my backlog to extend till the end of the year, buying me time to write the other novels and do a cross-country move at the end of July.

    This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.

    Super Supportive, Industrial Strength  Magic, and several other great web novels publish twice weekly, so this shift puts me in great company. Regardless. I''m going to write fast and hard to get the other novels done, and will circle back as soon as I can to resume writing Thrones before the backlog runs out.

    Thanks for your support and understanding. I hope you all decide to stick around and see what''s coming next for Harald and his crew.

    Cheers,

    Phil

 Chapter 45

    It was Vic that spoke first, his expression having turned hard. ¡°You¡¯re willing to put this all down in a contract?¡±

    ¡°Sure.¡±

    ¡°And in exchange you expect what, exactly, of us?¡±

    ¡°Vic,¡± protested Sam. ¡°He¡¯s already made that clear.¡±

    ¡°No strings attached?¡± Vic laughed. ¡°I wasn¡¯t born yesterday. Everything has a price.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s asking us to become embroiled in this celestial war,¡± said Nessa quietly. ¡°Isn¡¯t that cost enough?¡±

    Vic waved this away. ¡°Honestly, that feels too vague a commitment. We¡¯re talking 250,000 scales. Nobody throws that kind of wealth away. Nobody.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not throwing it away. I¡¯m¡­¡± Vic¡¯s anger surprised Harald. Perhaps if he spoke Vik¡¯s language? ¡°I¡¯m investing in the three of you. Instead of your schemes that¡¯ll make me scales, I¡¯m choosing to invest in a scheme that will provide me intangible but crucial benefits down the road.¡±

    ¡°Smart,¡± said Nessa. ¡°Binding us to you with chains of gold instead of iron.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not¡­¡± Harald pinched the bridge of his nose. ¡°Look. You can say no. Obviously. And I¡¯d understand. Who in their right mind would want to walk this road with me? But I¡¯m trying to do better than I was only a few days ago. I¡¯m trying to be honest with you three, and to put my money where my mouth is.¡±

    ¡°A bribe,¡± said Vic with a cruel smile. ¡°Ah, now I understand.¡±

    Sam glared at him. ¡°Are you trying to not understand on purpose?¡±

    ¡°Not a bribe,¡± said Harald. ¡°How many Thrones have you Ascended to, Vic?¡±

    ¡°One.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re a Level 3 Rapier Regent with one Throne. If I absorbed all this, I might soon be a Level 1 Abyssal Initiate with three Thrones. And if I continue to train and raid at the rate I intend to, how long will it take me to leave you behind?¡±

    Vic drew himself up. ¡°You¡¯d have to survive that long.¡±

    ¡°Exactly. That¡¯s my point. My chances of survival are far better if we tackle these problems together. On more or less equal footing. If I just charge myself up, I might become powerful in the immediate short term, but I¡¯ll probably end up dead or corrupted. Think of my father¡¯s warning. I don¡¯t want that. Hence why I¡¯m investing in our group. In my friends.¡±

    Vic¡¯s gaze glittered with mocking cruelty. ¡°This is so sweet. Excuse me for not believing it. I¡¯ll take your scales, but I¡¯ve already sold my services to Countess Sonora.¡±

    ¡°The angels damnit, Vic,¡± snapped Nessa.

    ¡°What?¡± He glared at her. ¡°I¡¯ve been around for too long to believe in such saccharine gestures. Write it all up on paper, Harald, and then we¡¯ll talk.¡±

    And he climbed the staircase quickly and was gone.

    ¡°Well,¡± said Harald, fighting hard not to feel deflated. ¡°That didn¡¯t go how I expected.¡±

    ¡°I think it¡¯s an amazing thing you¡¯re trying to do,¡± said Sam. ¡°I have my own reservations, but I appreciate where you¡¯re coming from.¡±

    Nessa sighed. ¡°Vic¡­ you¡¯ll have to be patient with him.¡±

    ¡°But why did he get angry at me?¡± Harald ran his hand over his short hair. ¡°You¡¯d think I was trying to coerce him, or scam him in some way.¡±

    ¡°Vic is¡­¡± Nessa sought the right words. ¡°Vic¡¯s a creature of the streets. He had a brutal upbringing.¡± She was clearly picking her phrases with extreme care. ¡°He¡¯s become the man you know today by¡­ adapting to how the street works. How it¡¯s worked for him. And¡­ he¡¯s smart and talented enough that he¡¯s found a way to not only navigate that world, but to rise to the fringes of the noble courts, where things were even more cruel and cut throat. But this thing you¡¯ve offered¡­¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± said Harald.

    Sam was nodding. ¡°It¡¯s not how his world works?¡±

    Nessa laughed. ¡°In his world, which has been mine for a few years now, every free gift is a trap. The closest we can get is taking a naive and wealthy mark for a ride. But then that¡¯s our taking, not receiving.¡±

    ¡°A naive and wealthy mark,¡± said Harald softly.

    Nessa¡¯s smile was knowing and unapologetic.

    ¡°So Harald offering that many scales¡­?¡± Sam was trying to piece it together. ¡°That was an attack on how he understands the world?¡±

    ¡°Something like that.¡± Nessa shook her head sadly. ¡°We¡¯re all broken in our own way, and we¡¯ve all done our best to cobble ourselves back together. But no matter how artfully we rearrange the pieces, the cracks will always show. Vic¡­ Vic understands the world in terms of quid pro quo.¡±

    ¡°Everything?¡± asked Harald.

    ¡°Everything,¡± said Nessa. ¡°It¡¯s not cynicism, exactly. It¡¯s¡­¡±

    ¡°A need not to be hurt,¡± whispered Sam.

    Nessa nodded sadly. ¡°Even my relationship with him. He¡¯s risked his life for me several times. And I¡¯ve done the same for him. But if you put a knife to his throat, he¡¯d stare you in the eye and tell you he only keeps me around for the advantages I bring Countess Sonora¡¯s group, or because having me on his arm in the Shambles elevates his own status due to my looks.¡±

    Harald rubbed his face. ¡°So¡­ I can¡¯t just give him the scales?¡±

    ¡°Oh, you most definitely can. But think of it like medicine. If you want it to go down smooth, you have to couch the exchange in terms he¡¯ll understand. So that he can do what¡¯s right while justifying it to himself. Otherwise he¡¯ll have to face the limitations of his world view, and not even two Horizon¡¯s are enough to make him do that.¡±

    ¡°A contract, then.¡± Harald pushed his weariness aside. ¡°Fine. Any suggestions? What would appeal to him?¡±

    Nessa considered. ¡°Honestly? Just repeat what you said in legalese. An expectation that he assist you in raids when they don¡¯t conflict with Countess Sonora¡¯s, requirements that he point out when you¡¯re turning into a demonic monster, stipulations that he¡¯s to remain a free agent while nurturing the¡­ the health of our little group and its power growth and emotional¡­ I don¡¯t know. Emotional well being? Ahead of any other consideration that again doesn¡¯t conflict with his prior commitments.¡±

    Harald nodded, but a sense of melancholy was stealing into his heart. He¡¯d always thought Vic a bright and garrulous companion, irascible and impossible to wound, a roguish wit who could laugh at any challenge.

    ¡°I know so little about people,¡± he said. ¡°I keep thinking I¡¯m doing the right thing, and messing everything up.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s life, Harry-boy.¡± Nessa smiled wearily. ¡°By the time you¡¯ve got it all figured out, you¡¯ll be dead. But hey. At least you¡¯re trying.¡±

    ¡°And there¡¯s something to what Vic said.¡± Sam crossed her arms tightly, the fabric of her emerald tunic tightening across her shoulders. ¡°You just can¡¯t give away that much wealth and claim there are no strings attached. Life doesn¡¯t work that way.¡±

    ¡°I wish it did,¡± said Harald, fighting the urge to feel sorry for himself.

    ¡°But it doesn¡¯t. I¡¯m fighting to forge a sense of identity independent of the Darrowdelves, and now you¡¯re trying to give me more wealth than I could earn in a lifetime. After these three days I¡¯ve spent interrogating my soul, I don¡¯t even know how to take that.¡±

    ¡°Then don¡¯t.¡± Harald threw up his arms. ¡°Fine. I¡¯ll absorb all the scales, sell off the Artifacts and absorb those scales as well, and six months from now be this monstrous creature of consummate evil that nobody recognizes.¡±

    ¡°Grow up, darling,¡± said Nessa, unimpressed.

    ¡°You want the four of us to be friends, yes?¡± Sam kept her tone level. ¡°You want us to be equals? Giving that kind of wealth works against that desire. It makes us feel¡­ indebted, obligated, lesser for needing your largesse. I know you don¡¯t want to hear this, but it¡¯s true. If your goal is to create a genuine group of equals, you need to make sure the foundation is healthy and strong.¡±

    ¡°For the record,¡± said Nessa with a wry smile, ¡°I¡¯m more than happy to take the scales and Artifact without protest.¡±

    ¡°Yes, well.¡± Sam considered Nessa, expression grave. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t if you took yourself seriously.¡±

    ¡°Excuse me?¡± asked Nessa, voice dangerously polite.

    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    Sam pressed her fingertips to her temples. ¡°Look. The point is this: we just need to find a way to make this work for the four of us. I want this to work, I want to be Harald¡¯s friend, but I just need to find a way that feels right given our history and the person I want to become.¡±

    ¡°Well.¡± Harald exhaled. ¡°Perhaps Vic has the right of it. Perhaps wealth can¡¯t just be given away without some form of quid pro quo. What if¡­¡± He trailed off, thinking. ¡°What if I form our own official raiding crew? Like I tried to do with Yeoric and his assholes? We acquire our own charter, our own dungeon writ, and I deed the Artifacts to the company, which then loans them to each of us for as long as we¡¯re in good standing with the crew, or whatever?¡±

    ¡°That sounds like a step in the right direction,¡± agreed Sam.

    ¡°And the scales?¡± asked Nessa.

    ¡°A salary? We can create a fund from which we each derive monthly payment?¡± Harald felt like he was barely keeping his head above the waves. ¡°With a sign-up bonus sufficient to advance each of us to the next Throne?¡±

    ¡°That¡­ that could work,¡± allowed Nessa. ¡°And it has several knock-on benefits. We could register the crew with the Mining Consortium for lowered taxation rates, could acquire certain raiding goods at a discount with the major vendors¡­¡±

    ¡°Yeah?¡± Harald wanted to laugh. ¡°I¡¯d no idea.¡±

    ¡°Vic probably knows all the benefits. But¡­ yes. I think I prefer this, too.¡± Nessa considered. ¡°This way, if we ever decide to part, there¡¯s an established protocol for breaking up without legal problems. And¡­ yes. It feels more¡­ fair? That¡¯s not the word.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s more dignity to it,¡± said Sam. ¡°We¡¯re being treated like professionals, not hangers-on.¡±

    ¡°Fine.¡± Harald raised his palms. ¡°If that¡¯s what it takes, then that¡¯s how we¡¯ll do it. Nessa, you want to tell Vic? Might help him unruffle his feathers.¡±

    ¡°Sure,¡± she said, and climbed the stairs.

    They stood in silence for a moment, just Sam and Harald. His pulse was racing, his emotions roiling, and he was trying not to feel angry, to recast everything that had happened into a narrative of ingratitude and unnecessarily complicated friends.

    ¡°I know you were trying to do something noble,¡± said Sam softly.

    ¡°Yeah. Well.¡±

    ¡°And I know you¡¯re upset. Obviously. You made an incredible offer, and got¡­ not told off, but¡­ criticized? That¡¯s how it must feel, I¡¯m guessing.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s fine.¡± He drew himself up. ¡°I¡¯m learning.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± Her expression was soft, concerned. ¡°I¡¯ll only say this because of what I read in your father¡¯s letter, and what you¡¯ve said you want from our friendship. Intentions aren¡¯t enough. They¡¯re important, but¡­ for a friendship to really work, it¡¯s not enough to just decide what¡¯s going to happen. Your friends get to tell you how they feel, and what they need. If you can¡¯t listen to them, then you¡¯re saying that your intentions matter more than their needs.¡±

    Harald bit back the urge to say something cutting. Instead he closed his eyes, held his breath, and really forced himself to listen.

    ¡°We¡¯re not¡­ we¡¯re none of us¡­ I don¡¯t know, ¡®healthy¡¯ people. Vic, Nessa, myself? We¡¯ve had¡­ we¡¯ve been forced to survive, to learn harsh lessons. But we¡¯re here.¡± Sam leaned forward and touched his elbow. ¡°We¡¯re here, because¡­ at the end of the day, and despite how fucked up we are? We all recognize that this is¡­ that you¡¯re¡­ I don¡¯t know how to say it. We just¡­ we also want this to work. But we¡¯ve got our instincts. We can sense what will allow this flourish, and what will poison the roots. And just accepting your generosity, even if it¡¯s offered with a beautiful and open heart, that doesn¡¯t work for us. For a variety of reasons.¡±

    Harald opened his eyes, listened.

    Sam¡¯s expression was almost beseeching. ¡°Don¡¯t think we¡¯re being ungrateful. The three of us, we¡¯ve never had any power. Not really, not like you. That¡¯s nobody¡¯s fault, including not being yours. But you don¡¯t see the world we do, because you haven¡¯t had to navigate it in very specific ways just to survive. So what to you feels obvious and good to us feels¡­ threatening, dangerous, maybe even¡­¡± She trailed off, struggling.

    ¡°Like it would poison the roots,¡± said Harald softly.

    ¡°Yes.¡± She nodded sharply. ¡°And Vic and I don¡¯t want that to happen.¡±

    ¡°Nessa does?¡±

    ¡°Nessa¡­¡± Sam considered. ¡°She doesn¡¯t, which is why she¡¯s here, but she¡¯s still wrestling with, well. Big things of her own. And I think she¡¯ll always be open to inviting corruption into her relationships. That affirms her world view, I guess.¡±

    Harald frowned. ¡°That all relationships are corrupt?¡±

    ¡°I think so.¡± Sam sighed. ¡°Just as Vic can¡¯t accept unconditional gestures of friendship, I don¡¯t think Nessa wants to believe that real, genuine friendships can exist, either. Because if they could, maybe on some level that would threaten her past, or her understanding of previous betrayals.¡±

    Harald exhaled again. ¡°What a fucked-up world.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve no idea.¡±

    For a moment they just stood there, but slowly Harald felt his anger, his resentment, begin to fade away.

    ¡°All right. I think I understand. I¡¯m still¡­ it still stung to have my offer interpreted that way, but you¡¯re right. Intentions aren¡¯t enough. And I am serious about our being equals, which means¡­ I guess I have to start looking into acquiring a new writ and drawing up the charter for our raiding crew.¡±

    ¡°Sounds good to me.¡±

    ¡°And you?¡± Harald tried to keep his tone casual. ¡°How do you want to handle¡­ well, everything?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve rented a small place above an inn.¡± Her smile was shy, proud. ¡°I¡¯ll be staying there from now on. And¡­ I won¡¯t be doing any of the chores here anymore, either, unless the fancy strikes me to cook on occasion.¡±

    ¡°Totally fair,¡± said Harald quickly.

    ¡°But I still want to train. So you¡¯ll be seeing a lot of me.¡±

    ¡°Good.¡± Harald smiled. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ that¡¯s great. Fantastic.¡±

    She returned his smile, though hers was a little tremulous, and then she gave a curt nod and turned to the stairs. ¡°Shall we? I wanted to collect my things from my room today, take them back to my new place. Maybe we can resume training tomorrow?¡±

    ¡°Sure. Of course. The day after that¡¯s the auction. Would you like to come?¡±

    ¡°To the Platinum Rose?¡± Sam paused, foot on the first step. ¡°I¡¯m not sure I¡¯d enjoy that just yet. But thank you for offering.¡±

    ¡°Of course, no worries. It¡¯s bound to be a lot. Though it¡¯s a pity, seeing as Countess Sonora¡¯s going to be present. I¡¯d like us all to be introduced to her together. As a crew. Or a sub-crew to her own. At some point.¡±

    ¡°At some point, yes.¡± Sam¡¯s smile was bright. ¡°We¡¯ll make it happen when the time is right.¡±

    ¡°Good.¡± Harald felt his spirits begin to rise. ¡°Excellent.¡±

    And together they left the small chamber and all its treasures behind.

    *

    Most of the books in his father¡¯s library had been carted away by Master Ling, but Harald had declared the office out of bounds, and thus his father¡¯s ledgers and reference tomes were still available for research purposes.

    He spent the next few hours reading copies of old charters, including his father¡¯s original write-up for his first raiding crew, and from these disparate sources cobbled together his own version.

    It took over an hour to transcribe and filled three sheets of fresh parchment. The Preamble took the longest for him to write; it¡¯s where the purpose of the crew was stated, its identity affirmed, and any specific goals set forth, along with shared values and principles guiding its members. After several drafts, Harald went with:

    "We, the undersigned, hereby establish this charter to unite under a common banner with the purpose of mutual Ascension in power and prowess. Our quest, centered on the salvaging of scales from the depths of the dungeon, is driven by a shared conviction to push ourselves and each other to the utmost limits of our capabilities. In pursuit of this end, we pledge to uphold the principles of relentless growth, unwavering support, and an unbreakable bond that places the well-being and advancement of our fellows above our own. Together, as a crew bound by these ideals, we embark on this perilous journey, committed to rising as one, where the success of each is the triumph of all."

    He reread it several times, and felt quite proud.

    From there he outlined the first article, which focused on eligibility and recruitment of members, roles and responsibilities, as well as the minimalist induction process. A simple non-magical oath would serve.

    The second article dealt with official leadership and structure. Traditionally crews were led by the most experienced member, which would make Nessa their leader, but for their crew Harald decided to nominate Nessa as delve captain for when they were in the dungeon proper, and Sam for the crew leader for all other organizational and financial matters, pending approval of the whole crew by vote.

    The third article dealt with financial arrangements. Harald stipulated the creation of a crew fund which could be used for collective expenses, equipment repair, and other needs, along with a general raid tithe of 20% to keep it replenished once it fell below a certain amount, which for now he left blank. They could hash that out together.

    He would, he decided, pay off Countess Sonora first. Her interest rate was punishing, and he was sure the others wouldn¡¯t object.

    He spent a long while writing the salary and dividends clause, using his father¡¯s own charter as a model for how salaries were determined based on class level and the division of Artifacts. There would be a one-time sign-up bonus of a single Horizon¡¯s Whisper, a monthly stipend of one Aurora Veil to all members, and another Veil paid as a ¡®delve bonus¡¯ for every level each member possessed when they entered a dungeon. That meant that Nessa would be earning 4,000 scales with each dive, while he and Sam would get only 1,000 for now.

    That felt right.

    He appended an emergency clause in case the crew fund dipped below a certain level, where crew members were expected to sacrifice their delve bonus.

    Humming, he moved onto the fourth clause, which dealt with conduct and discipline. This he simply copied from his father¡¯s charter, outlining both a code of conduct, the mechanism for dispute resolution, and possible repercussions for violating the articles or other misbehavior.

    Harald sat back and chewed on the stylus as he considered the code. He¡¯d want to amend it to reflect the nature of the Preamble, but for now it would serve.

    The fifth article dealt with operations and safety, and covered planning and execution of raids, the loaning of crew Artifacts, responsibilities while underground, and safety protocols to ensure member safety, including emergency procedures in case of serious injury or death. This again he simply copied from his father¡¯s charter.

    The final clause dealt with processes for amendments, ensuring the charter remained a living document that reflected any changed circumstances, and sunset clauses for conditions under which the crew could be dissolved, how to do so, and how to distribute remaining assets.

    When he was done, Harald shook out his hand, stretched his aching fingers, and felt a twinge of sympathy for his own father¡¯s complaints at the end of his four-page letter.

    Gathering the document, he blew on the last of the ink to dry it, then headed downstairs.

    His friends had wanted to formalize matters, make everything official, and set forth terms in black and white?

    Harald grinned, inordinately pleased with himself.

    Well, that was just what they were going to get.

    Whistling, he crossed the entrance hall, imagining everyone was in the kitchen or out on the back patio, when an officious sounding knock sounded on the front door.

    Harald paused.

    Master Ling, returned to clarify some inventory dispute?

    Curious, cautious, Harald opened the door, then stepped back in alarm.

    Outside stood a woman in the colors of House Celestara. Her golden half-plate was clearly crafted by a master blacksmith with the opulence of a monarch, giving her a regal air, and was worn over a bodysuit of midnight blue. Each piece was of burnished gold, inlaid with filigree, and expertly shaped to provide both defense and a silhouette that exuded power.

    A cape of purest cerulean flowed from her shoulders, thick and voluminous, though its edges were torn as if from countless battles.

    But it was her golden helm that held Harald¡¯s stare: its front was subtly contoured to her face and perforated with dozens of diamond holes. Vicious spikes edged the top, sweeping back to defend her temples, with a single central horn extending almost straight up like that of unicorn. Brutal, elegant, it rendered the woman almost inhuman in appearance. Emerging from the top was a cascade of silver-white hair, long and untamed. It fell like a river of moonlight, contrasting powerfully with her sky-blue cloak, her gleaming gold armor, her dark bodysuit.

    ¡°Sir Harald Darrowdelve?¡± Her voice echoed from within her helm. ¡°I have come at the behest of Lady Celestis. We must talk.¡±

 Chapter 46

    ¡°Of course,¡± said Harald, opening the door wide and stepping back so that the House Celestara warrior could enter. ¡°Please, be welcome.¡±

    The woman followed him into the first parlor, her gold sabatons clicking on the marble floor, and when he gestured to a large armchair she removed her striking helm and shook out her silver-white mane of hair, which cascaded down to frame a face that was far younger and more beautiful than Harald had expected.

    She couldn¡¯t be more than thirty, her eyes a pale gray so light that they almost faded into the whites of her eyes. Her manner was sober, self-possessed, her stare direct as she gathered her cerulean cloak over one arm and then sat, straight backed, to study him in turn as he moved to another chair across a low table from her.

    ¡°My name is Lady Yseult Khan,¡± said the warrior, her voice rich and coolly confident. ¡°I lead one of Lady Celestara¡¯s Gold-ranked strike teams, and have been Gold-ranked for over seven years now.¡±

    Gold-ranked.

    If anything, that made Harald sit up even more. That put her anywhere from Level 11 to 16, and with her being the leader of a strike team? Probably closer to Level 16.

    Holy shit.

    The things this woman must have seen.

    Must have done.

    ¡°I¡¯m honored, Lady Yseult-Khan,¡± said Harald, keeping his voice calm and collected. ¡°My house is greatly impoverished, and I no longer have staff on hand to serve us the refreshments you deserve. If you give me a moment, however, I¡¯ll fetch us something to drink.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s no need, Sir Darrowdelve. I¡¯ve come to extend Lady Celestis¡¯s regard. She knew your father only in passing. It seems he was not much interested in social affairs?¡±

    ¡°My father? No.¡± Harald smiled wryly. ¡°He said very little I can repeat in polite company about politics and the Houses. He much rather preferred entertaining his friends and crew here at the house. That and raiding.¡±

    ¡°Indeed. Darius Darrowdelve is a name of some repute. A hard man, your father. I only crossed paths with him a few times, but he made an impression. He¡¯s been gone four years now?¡±

    ¡°Four years, yes.¡± What was her angle? She was so poised, so collected, that even this small talk felt elevated and refined, coming from her. ¡°He left one night in a rush for a raid, and never returned.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry for your loss,¡± said Lady Yseult, bowing her head briefly. ¡°You must have been quite young, then. Fourteen?¡±

    Harald smiled. ¡°That an educated guess or the fruit of research?¡±

    ¡°Lady Celestis is thorough in learning about those who interest her,¡± allowed Lady Yseult with a complicit smile. ¡°Though it seems you are still in the midst of change.¡±

    ¡°An auction is imminent,¡± agreed Harald. ¡°I¡¯m trying to make the most of what little I have left.¡±

    ¡°Wise. As well as engaging in delving for the first time.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not a question.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s an observation.¡± Lady Yseult¡¯s smile was subtle. ¡°Lady Celestis prides herself in being aware of most matters in Flutic before they are common knowledge. She has access to the Dungeon Gazette before printed copies are distributed to the public.¡±

    ¡°Ah. Well, I¡¯m flattered by her interest, though I don¡¯t understand why my first raid merited a visit from someone as illustrious as yourself.¡±

    ¡°Surely you can¡¯t be surprised? You are registered as entering the 4th Level via the Copper Gate with a total scale count of 1,024, and emerging two days later with a registered count of 11,040. Sir Darrowdelve, that¡¯s almost a thousand percent increase, and indicates the Ascension of your first Throne.¡± Lady Yseult¡¯s gaze was piercing. ¡°Not only are you to be featured in this month¡¯s Gazette for that remarkable increase, but Lady Celestis has percentage increases tabulated for all raiders who delved that prior month, and yours was, as you can imagine, head and shoulders above the next entrant.¡±

    ¡°Right.¡± Harald kept his expression neutral. Vic had warned him. The taxation officials wouldn¡¯t care, wouldn¡¯t cry foul, but the Houses would take note. ¡°All blessings to the Fallen Angel. It was a most fortunate delve.¡±

    ¡°Indeed.¡± Lady Yseult¡¯s scrutiny was unflagging, her gaze clear and focused. ¡°But that¡¯s why I¡¯m here. Sir Darrowdelve¡ª¡±

    ¡°Please, call me Harald.¡±

    Lady Yseult paused, then inclined her head. ¡°Harald, may I ask how you accomplished this feat?¡±

    Harald felt his cheeks burn as he tried to think of a way to evade.

    Lady Yseult obviously noticed. ¡°I¡¯m treating with you as I would a warrior in my strike team. I appreciate directness and honesty. If you¡¯re willing to tell me what took place on the 4th Level, I¡¯d appreciate it. If not, please don¡¯t be concerned. I won¡¯t be offended.¡±

    ¡°What took place is, as you can imagine, something that I haven¡¯t shared with anyone else outside my crew.¡±

    ¡°That would be Victor Carmine, Evernessa Ermarine, and your oathbound servant, Samantha Tuppins?¡±

    Harald bowed his head in acknowledgment. ¡°Lady Celestis¡¯ research is impeccable.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve no interest in wasting your time. Harald, you¡¯ve already guessed why I¡¯m here. In one raid you¡¯ve demonstrated a rate of growth that is simply astounding in this modern age. If you¡¯re amenable, Lady Celestis would like to invite you to her estate to make your acquaintance and explore potential partnerships for your future.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m more honored than I deserve.¡±

    ¡°Look. Harald.¡± Lady Yseult leaned forward, her armor creaking subtly. ¡°I¡¯m not in the habit of making house calls, but even my curiosity was piqued by your rapid acquisition of scales. Even if you diligently farmed Aurora Veil¡¯s, you would have needed to be on the 30th or lower Level. I¡¯m trying to understand it myself, but the only theory I think is remotely feasible is your finding a Silver-ranked portal that took you that deep, where you then linked up with a Questing Hermit who was feeling uncommonly generous.¡±

    ¡°Questing Hermit?¡±

    Lady Yseult waved her hand. ¡°That¡¯s what we call high ranked raiders who choose to remain in the dungeon indefinitely. They¡¯re as rare as they are powerful. Folks like Neckbreaker the Dwarf, or Lady End.¡± She raised a finely shaped brow.

    ¡°Please thank Lady Celestis for reaching out. As I said, she¡¯s doing me entirely too much honor, and I would be glad to accept her invitation at her convenience.¡±

    ¡°Wise of you,¡± said Lady Yseult, rising to her feet. ¡°Lady Celestis will be pleased. She suggested dinner at her estate two days¡¯ hence?¡±

    ¡°But of course. May I bring a guest?¡±

    Lady Yseult¡¯s smile was perfunctory. ¡°Of course.¡±

    ¡°Very well.¡±

    Harald escorted the insanely powerful warrior to the front door. Vic and Nessa were approaching up the drive, and they slowed, eyes widening at the sight of Lady Yseult.

    Who casually placed her striking and brutal golden helm back upon her head, and then nodded to Harald. ¡°Sir Darrowdelve.¡±

    ¡°Lady Yseult.¡± He hesitated, then took a gamble. ¡°I hope it¡¯s not too forward of me to reveal that I agreed to the invitation in large part because you delivered it.¡±

    ¡°As Lady Celestis anticipated,¡± said the warrior, and Harald thought he could hear a smile in her tone.

    Then the warrior descended the steps, her golden armor resplendent, cerulean cloak trailing after her, and strode past Vic and Nessa without glancing at them.

    They watched Lady Yseult depart, and then both hurried up the steps to join Harald.

    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

    ¡°House Celestara?¡± Vic sounded half awed, half intimidated. ¡°By the angels, was that Yseult Khan herself?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± said Harald, rubbing at his chin. ¡°She¡¯s the leader of one of Lady Celestis¡¯ Gold-ranked¡ª¡±

    ¡°We know who the hell she is, Harald,¡± Nessa cut in. ¡°Why the hell was she here?!¡±

    ¡°You know of her?¡± Harald blinked. ¡°I didn¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s because you never left your manor other to go drinking with us in disreputable haunts,¡± said Vic. ¡°Whereas Nessa and I are sophisticated cosmopolitans. Everybody knows who Yseult Khan is, Harry. Everybody. So: why the fuck did she come round for tea?¡±

    ¡°Oh¡­¡± Nessa snapped her fingers. ¡°Lady Celestis must get an early copy of the Gazette.¡±

    ¡°So?¡± Vic stared at her in confusion, then his eyes widened. ¡°Harald¡¯s jump in scales. Of course. Harald. What did she offer you?¡±

    Nessa took a step closer. ¡°And did you accept?¡±

    ¡°She made me an offer I couldn¡¯t refuse.¡± Harald schooled his features to be as grave as possible. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I accepted.¡± Both looked stunned until Harald grinned. ¡°Dinner at the Celestara estate two nights from now.¡±

    Nessa¡¯s eyes immediately narrowed, even as Vic scowled and then laughed.

    ¡°Well played, sir, well played. Nothing finer than a joke in extremely poor taste. But that¡¯s it? That couldn¡¯t have been it. What else? The nuances, darling, the fucking nuances!¡±

    Harald led them inside and closed the door, and only then did he feel like he could exhale. The combination of utter lethality and her arresting, piercing beauty had made it hard to breathe around Yseult.

    Vic dragged Harald into the parlor and shoved him into his armchair, then sat across from him, Nessa standing by his side.

    ¡°Details. Nuances. An exact recitation of every word said. Now.¡±

    So Harald told them.

    ¡°Well, well,¡± said Vic, glancing up at Nessa. ¡°Lady Celestis came in with a very strong hand. To send her own sister to deliver her dinner invitation?¡±

    ¡°Her - ?¡± began Harald in amazement, but Nessa cut him off.

    ¡°Too strong, almost.¡± Nessa ran a finger along the armchair back thoughtfully. ¡°Then again, she knows Harry¡¯s front door is going to be assaulted by messengers when the Gazette comes out tomorrow. Fortunately for Harry, he¡¯ll be at the auction all day long.¡±

    ¡°She knew about the auction,¡± said Harald. ¡°Lady Celestis.¡±

    ¡°Of course she did, the canny witch.¡± Vic tapped his chin. ¡°The others will as well, as soon as they piece two and two together. The Platinum Rose will have shared news of the estate auction with every major buyer. I fear the auction is going to be more eventful than we anticipated.¡±

    Harald winced. ¡°How am I supposed to handle this without mortally offending everyone?¡±

    ¡°Good luck threading that needle, darling,¡± said Vic, crossing one leg over the other. ¡°A thousand percent growth on the 4th will at the very least draw casual offers from every major house. And you¡¯ve already agreed to Lady Celestis¡¯ invitation, which the others will soon discover when they begin their secret inquiries.¡±

    ¡°Secret inquiries?¡±

    ¡°Every House is riddled with each other¡¯s spies,¡± said Vic dismissively. ¡°It¡¯s positively incestuous. We¡¯re going to have to play this very carefully to minimize the number of assassins sent your way.¡±

    Harald felt the bottom of his stomach fall out. ¡°Assassins?¡±

    ¡°I jest, I jest,¡± said Vic.

    ¡°He¡¯s not joking,¡± said Nessa dryly. ¡°Or, at least, it¡¯s not an impossibility if you sufficiently impress and then insult the wrong person.¡±

    ¡°Easier to nip you in the bud than risk your becoming the next Yseult Khan,¡± agreed Vic apologetically. ¡°Houses are very pro-active when it comes to safeguarding their interests. Not much else, though.¡±

    ¡°Damn.¡± Harald ran his fingers briskly through his hair. ¡°Makes rising in power a pain in the ass.¡±

    ¡°Poor baby,¡± said Vic. ¡°But this is Flutic. Why do you think the Houses unanimously voted in favor of the new taxation and registration policies a century ago?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll be fine,¡± said Nessa. ¡°Probably. You can either accept everyone¡¯s invitation to dine, and thus show nobody any favor, or just that of another equally powerful House, thus ensuring that the remaining four are miffed but not personally slighted.¡±

    Vic peered up at her. ¡°Thornvale? Veridian?¡±

    Nessa frowned and balanced her head from side to side. ¡°Thornvale would upset everyone, but it¡¯s an understandable choice. Veridian¡­ established, powerful, highly respected. Could work. The question is: which?¡±

    ¡°Thornvale,¡± said Harald, leaning forward. ¡°They¡¯re the newest House, right? Dad always spoke of them with admiration, which made me leery.¡±

    ¡°House Thornvale,¡± said Vic, voice swelling into an officious tone. ¡°Ambitious, cunning, relentless. Led by Lord Rowan Thorn, its acquired more power and influence in a shorter time than any other, and, I¡¯m sure, mostly by nefarious means. All the Houses are velvet gloves around iron fists, but with Thornvale there¡¯s precious little velvet.¡±

    ¡°And House Veridian I know,¡± said Harald. ¡°Father used to mock their motto: Through Knowledge, We Rule. They¡¯re wholly given to uncovering ancient secrets in the Dungeon, and¡­ don¡¯t they have a near monopoly on the sale of magical Artifacts?¡±

    ¡°Why,¡± said Nessa with mock amusement. ¡°It¡¯s almost as if you¡¯re a pretend noble yourself.¡±

    ¡°Which to choose, though, which.¡± Vic tapped his lips in thought. ¡°Celestara on one hand¡ªThrough Wisdom, We Command the Heavens¡ªand on the other¡­ I¡¯m thinking Veridian. Less controversial than Thornvale.¡±

    ¡°Mmm,¡± agreed Nessa. ¡°Boring is safe, less likely to alarm the others.¡±

    ¡°If I get offers from everyone,¡± said Harald.

    ¡°Not if, darling.¡± Vic¡¯s smile was lazy. ¡°The fact that Celestis send the Yseult fucking Khan to your door is proof that they will.¡±

    Harald pictured Lady Yseult. The striking symmetry of her features, her air of nobility and steely resolve. Her flawless skin, porcelain in its smoothness, the stark, silvery sheen of her hair. The unmistakable strength that she projected effortlessly. ¡°What¡¯s she done that¡¯s so incredible?¡±

    Vic let out a low whistle.

    ¡°A tale for another time,¡± said Nessa. ¡°Perhaps when we tuck you into bed with a glass of warm milk.¡±

    Harald grimaced in response.

    ¡°Of course, some of the Houses may be more direct, and make their offers there and then.¡± Vic considered. ¡°In which case you¡¯ll have to be adept at deflecting, deferring. I suppose I¡¯ll have to come and provide a modicum of assistance.¡±

    Harald¡¯s eyes opened wide. ¡°You weren¡¯t planning to go?¡±

    Vic grinned lazily. ¡°Oh, I was completely confident in your abilities to navigate the halls of power within the Platinum Rose and come out ahead in that crucible of financial and political will.¡±

    Nessa clucked her tongue disapprovingly.

    ¡°Yes, yes I¡¯ll be going,¡± said Vic. ¡°I¡¯ve even had a new suit tailored for the occasion. Speaking of, you do have something to wear?¡±

    ¡°My old clothes. I¡¯m not sure how well they fit me now.¡±

    ¡°Well, we¡¯ve no time to commission something new.¡± Vic stood. ¡°We¡¯ll have to leave now and see if any of my favorite tailors are willing to adjust your suits at such short notice.¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± said Harald, rising to his feet. ¡°Before we go. I have something for you both to read.¡±

    He darted out to the entrance hall, snatched up his freshly written charter, then returned and held it out.

    ¡°What¡¯s this, then?¡± Vic took it as Nessa slid down to sit on the arm of his chair, and together they read the contract.

    ¡°Committed to rising as one, where the success of each is the triumph of all," Nessa read out softly. ¡°Well. That has a nice ring to it.¡±

    ¡°Painfully idealistic,¡± sniffed Vic. ¡°But yes, I see what you mean.¡±

    Harald grinned.

    They read the entire charter with remarkable focus.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t enter all the numbers,¡± said Harald apologetically. ¡°We¡¯d have to vote on what those should be. And I nominated Nessa and Sam for the leadership roles, but that would also have to be voted on.¡±

    Vic glanced at him over the top of the sheets. ¡°You don¡¯t fancy yourself our brave leader?¡±

    Harald grinned and sat back. ¡°Me? I know next to nothing about the dungeon, and am probably the weakest member of the group. As for running the crew itself? I hate bureaucracy, am terrible with scales, and would probably forget half of the items I¡¯d written myself. I think I¡¯m much better suited to one of the lower rungs in the organization.¡±

    Vic narrowed his eyes, then nodded once and resumed reading.

    When they were done he handed the papers to Nessa and sat back, fingers steepled before his lips. ¡°You¡¯re ready to make allowances for our obligations to the Countess Sonora?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s already in there. But it¡¯s my understanding that she doesn¡¯t call on your group too frequently.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s started to need us more.¡±

    ¡°Then we¡¯ll work around it.¡±

    ¡°Harald.¡± Vic¡¯s tone was cool, direct. ¡°If we sign this, there will be no going back. Those scales will legally belong to the crew fund. The Artifacts as well. We could turn around and vote you out of the crew, and there would be nothing you can do about it.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯d need Sam¡¯s vote.¡±

    ¡°My point remains. You¡¯re willing to make this commitment? It¡¯s one thing to get carried away with a sparkling new idea, it¡¯s another to sign away that much power and wealth irrevocably to a legal entity.¡±

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t have handed you those papers if I weren¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°Hmm.¡± Vic continued to study him.

    ¡°This is well done,¡± said Nessa, tapping her knee with the papers. ¡°You used your father¡¯s charter as a model?¡±

    Harald nodded.

    ¡°Smart. Though I imagine you made some edits? There¡¯s language in here that I can¡¯t square with your father¡¯s reputation.¡±

    Harald nodded again.

    ¡°Well.¡± Nessa stared at the papers, nonplussed, then tossed them on the table between them. ¡°I¡¯m willing to join this crew, and would stand for election as the delve captain. It¡¯s¡­ it¡¯s shockingly fair.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± agreed Vic. ¡°No matter how hard I try, I can¡¯t find any hidden clauses or insinuations. It¡¯s all painfully, almost naively, sincere.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s me in a nutshell,¡± smiled Harald.

    ¡°Too true.¡± Vic sighed. ¡°Yes, very well. This I can get onboard with. A salaried membership, policies for the loan of Artifacts, a crew fund to cover expenses and healing¡­ it¡¯s surprisingly thorough.¡±

    ¡°Great,¡± said Harald. ¡°We¡¯ll just need Sam¡¯s signature, then I¡¯ll take it down to the Mining Consortium¡¯s main offices to be notarized and acquire our writ.¡±

    ¡°Will you look at him now, Nessa,¡± said Vic in a fond tone. ¡°Our little Harry-boy, all grown up.¡±

    ¡°I can hardly recognize him,¡± said Nessa. ¡°I¡¯m starting to worry as to what he¡¯ll look like a few months from now.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll need a crew name,¡± said Harald. ¡°I was thinking¡ª¡±

    ¡°Please,¡± cut in Vic. ¡°Don¡¯t. I¡¯m sure it¡¯s painful and awkward sounding. Just sit on it for a few days longer or you¡¯ll furnish me with a lifetime of material with which to torment you.¡±

    Harald glowered at him.

    ¡°Well.¡± Vic slapped his knees and stood. ¡°We cannot underestimate the importance of appropriate couture tomorrow. Let¡¯s grab you best suits and try to find a tailor before it gets too late. Nessa?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll stay.¡± She stretched sinuously, then relaxed and yawned. ¡°It¡¯s been awhile since I had a luxurious bath. I think I¡¯m entitled.¡±

    ¡°Great.¡± Harald hesitated. ¡°So: signatures?¡±

    ¡°Yes, very well.¡± Vic feigned reluctance. ¡°If you insist.¡±

    They ascended to his father¡¯s study, and while Harald watched with avid intensity they both initialed each page and signed the last.

    Nessa¡¯s signature was dense and dark, Vic¡¯s elaborate and ended with a flourish.

    Harald signed below their own names, leaving just enough room for Sam. ¡°There. Almost a full crew. With a little luck I¡¯ll have time after the auction to get this notarized. I¡¯m hoping we can do our next raid soon.¡±

    ¡°Oh Harald,¡± sighed Vic. ¡°First you have to survive the auction. And given your visit today? I¡¯m starting to think the odds of that are very slim indeed.¡±

 Chapter 47

    Vic and Harald set out for the Platinum Rose Auction House early the next day. It was overcast, clouds pressing down heavy upon the rooftops and towers of Flutic, and all the colors seemed bleached of vibrancy. Carriages sprayed wet gravel from their wheels, and few pedestrians were out in the Angelus Quarter.

    ¡°Feels inauspicious,¡± murmured Harald, peering out the foggy carriage window.

    Vic was retying his cravat for the umpteenth time. ¡°Don¡¯t be superstitious. We make our own luck, darling. And today? You¡¯re going to be the belle of the ball.¡±

    Harald resisted the urge to stretch. Their late night stay at an obscure tailor¡¯s had resulted in an old suit of his being revived; he now wore a sober doublet of gray velvet patterned with black thread arabesques about the shoulders and across his chest, and his sleeves ballooned down to his forearms. A half-cloak of black sable hung rakishly from his shoulders, its inner lining dove gray.

    ¡°Monochrome is crucial when avoiding all chances of accidental favoritism.¡± Vic had been in his element last night, sounding at once jaded and wry. ¡°Does an inner lining of forest green suggest a proclivity for House Thornvale? A blue accent on your tunic indicate an interest in House Silvershield? Best to give everyone¡¯s fevered imaginations no incitement for conjecture.¡±

    It had been gratifying to observe how much the wizened old tailor had taken out from his doublet, tightening it around his stomach even as he¡¯d been forced to widen it for his shoulders and chest. His thighs had strained his old breeches, so that in the end only his shoe size seemed to have remained the same.

    ¡°By the angels,¡± Vic had murmured from where he¡¯d lounged on a chaise. ¡°What have they been feeding you, Harry-boy? You look like Harald¡¯s older brother who went in for a life of thuggery, not the soft and gentle butterbun I used to know.¡±

    Harald had taken quiet pride in that.

    ¡°Now,¡± said Vic, patting his cravat. ¡°The auction begins at Twelfth Bell, but everyone will arrive by Eleventh at the latest. You¡¯ve been to an auction at one of the primary houses?¡±

    Harald shook his head.

    ¡°You poor dear. Such criminal neglect. But regardless: auction houses are accepted as neutral territory by one and all; the Platinum Rose will provide its own security, but that¡¯s mostly for show. Any disruption will result in not only the Rose but every other auction house refusing to do business with you, and that¡¯s a mortal blow to even a major house. Thus everyone will be on their very best behavior, which allows for mingling, gossip, and the dealing of business without the need for watching one¡¯s back.¡±

    ¡°Sounds delightful,¡± said Harald.

    ¡°It is if you¡¯ve a talent for political maneuvering. Which, as it turns out, I have. Countess Sonora asked that I escort her, but when she learned that I was escorting you, she was more than willing to forgo my usual witticisms. With the understanding of course that she¡¯ll have a moment alone with you before the bidding begins.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯ll be an honor,¡± said Harald. ¡°I have much to thank her for.¡±

    ¡°Oh darling.¡± Vic¡¯s smile was fond and pitying both. ¡°The tables are turned. Lady Yseult Khan¡¯s visit was proof enough of that. Countess Sonora hasn¡¯t said as much, but I know she¡¯s thrilled to already have you in her debt. She¡¯ll seek to leverage that advantage, and honestly, I can¡¯t blame her. Alas. She¡¯s jousting with the big boys today, and she simply doesn¡¯t have the funds or leverage to compete.¡±

    ¡°Speaking of.¡± Harald dug out the Gazette. It had been delivered that morning, just before daybreak, and the ink was sharp and slightly smeared on the flimsy paper. ¡°Strange. My face isn¡¯t on the front page.¡±

    Vic looked askance as Harald grinned.

    The gazette was composed of a number of folded pages, each covered in dense type arranged in neat albeit formidable columns.

    The front page was, as always, given to a headline story about the most significant raiding achievement of the previous month, followed by an editorial note. This month featured Lady Hammerfell¡¯s slaying of the Vortex Hydra on the 63rd Level. A sketch of Lady Hammerfell was inset on the left, portraying a kind, oval face framed by flowing hair, with hints of spikes from her pauldron rising to one side.

    Vic leaned over to peer at the article. ¡°Ooh, Lady Hammerfell. She¡¯s incredible. Not because she¡¯s a Gold-ranked raider for House Drakenhart, nor because she¡¯s a Level 14 Dragonslayer Knight, but because she¡¯s over eight feel tall and perfectly¡ªI mean perfectly¡ªproportioned.¡± Vic leaned back with a sigh. ¡°I¡¯ve never considered the idea of being crushed to death attractive until I met her.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve met Lady Hammerfell?¡±

    ¡°Well, not officially. Nor unofficially, I suppose. But I¡¯ve seen her a couple of times. It¡¯s hard not to, really. She stands out in a crowd, you could say.¡±

    Harald snorted and scanned the article. ¡°Amid the shadowy, turbulent waters of the 63rd Level, where even the bravest dared not linger, Lady Hammerfell¡¯s zweihander gleamed with the promise of legend. Hmm. They got a quote from her: ¡®The beast¡¯s defiance couldn¡¯t withstand the combined fury of my crew. I was most fortunate to fight the hydra with my companions by my side.¡¯¡±

    ¡°Charmingly modest,¡± agreed Vic. ¡°But never mind Hammerfell.¡±

    Harald skipped the Editorial Note at the bottom and turned the page. The entirety of the inside was given to a table of the Top 100 active raiders according to their last registered scale count. As a child, Harald would study these names with avid curiosity, but had lost interest after his mother¡¯s death. Their glory had only reflected his lack. For the first time, however, he scanned the top names.

    1.  Seraphine the Skyward Blade | Unaffiliated | 37,309,221 scales

    2.  Thornar Blackhammer | House Emberfell | 29,188,565 scales

    3.  Yseult Khan | House Celestara | 28,316,233 scales

    4.  Lysandra the Dawnbringer | House Silvershield | 23,390,111 scales

    5.  Aurion Crush | House Drakenhart | 20,022,288 scales

    6.  Orin Vex, Keeper of Secrets | House Veridian | 19,433,873 scales

    7.  Brianna Hammerfell | House Drakenhart | 18,732,233 scales

    8.  Earthshaker | House Thornvale | 15,098,233 scales

    9.  Elenya Simarien | Unaffiliated | 13,443,765 scales

    10. Newt One-Eye | House Veridian | 12,345,398 scales

    ¡°Lady Yseult¡¯s ranked third.¡± Harald couldn¡¯t believe it. ¡°And she¡¯s still ten million behind this Seraphine? Who¡¯s ¡®unaffiliated¡¯?!¡±

    ¡°Ah, Seraphine the Skyward Blade.¡± Vic was clearly trying to sound knowing. ¡°What a delicious enigma she is. You know how the more scales you absorb, the more physically enhanced you become, which also means you become ever more strikingly handsome or beautiful?¡±

    Harald thought of Lady Yseult¡¯s breathtaking looks. ¡°Right?¡±

    ¡°Seraphine¡¯s apparently almost painful to gaze upon. And too powerful to be strongarmed into a House. The tales I could tell you, my boy! They¡¯d fill an evening. But we¡¯ve not the time. Come on, look at the Copper Charts.¡±

    Harald turned past the active Gold and Silver tables. There were perhaps only 300 listed in the three columns of the Gold table, which ballooned to a couple of thousand in the Silver, taking up the next six pages. The Copper table had a cut-off clause clearly listed up top: only Copper ranked raiders with over 10,000 scales were listed, reducing the nearly 13,000 registered active raiders to a svelte group of 5,000 over the next twelve pages.

    ¡°I¡¯ll never find my name,¡± said Harald, peering in dismay at the endless rows of crabbed script bunched into tiny columns.

    ¡°Look at the ¡®Notable Increases¡¯ sidebar,¡± said Vic, turning the page back to the front of the Copper section. ¡°There. And look who has pride of place.¡±

    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

    There, in the smudged type of the gazette, read:

    ¡ñ   Harald Darrowdelve | Unaffiliated | 11,040 | 1,024 | 4th Level | 978% Increase

    The next in line was:

    ¡ñ   Marika Flame | House Thornvale | 14,332 | 10,587 | 22nd Level | 135% Increase

    ¡°Poor Marika,¡± murmured Vic. ¡°What would have been a banner month for her now looks like she was sleeping on the job.¡±

    ¡°Why am I listed as ¡®Unaffiliated¡¯?¡± asked Harald. ¡°I¡¯m House Darrowdelve.¡±

    ¡°House Darrowdelve is a mere technicality, darling. If you¡¯re not associated with one of the Big Six, or one step removed, you¡¯re nobody.¡±

    ¡°Hmm.¡± Harald flipped through the remaining pages. There was an interview with Lord Thornvale, a few sketches of notable Artifacts recovered, an economics section listing the total amount of scales brought out of the dungeon (1,343,322), total absorbed by raiders within the dungeon (672,909), and the combined amount harvested (2,016,231). This was contrasted with the total harvested during the most productive year on record (677, when 19,165,872 was extracted), along with a chart of the past year showing a declining line.

    Finally there was an obituary section, a rumor mill, and several pages of advertisements listing everything from smiths to inns to vendors of certified dungeon maps and the locations of hidden caches of scales.

    Harald closed the Gazette and tossed it to Vic, who batted it away.

    ¡°Well. Top of the Notable Increases is hard to miss,¡± allowed Harald. ¡°But doesn¡¯t that doesn¡¯t happen often?¡±

    Vic considered. ¡°No? But it¡¯s more the fact that you did it on the 4th Level that has raised eyebrows. Someone like Marika is no doubt part of a solid Thornvale Copper-ranked crew, with resources, expertise, and the ability to grind on the 22nd Level. You? You¡¯re a nobody who did the impossible on a played out floor where at best an enterprising raider might eke out 50 Coppers after a hard day¡¯s work. You¡¯re a mystery, Harry-boy, which means everyone is going to be dying to know how you did it.¡±

    ¡°Right.¡±

    They soon arrived at the Platinum Rose. It was a large building built in the ornate style of the Jade Empire, with curving rooftops and great crimson pillars holding up a grand portico in the front. A long line of carriages was slowly inching forward as guests were deposited at the entrance and hurried up the broad steps to get out of the newly misting rain.

    Harald peered out the window as they slowly approached. ¡°There¡¯s a lot of people here. How many auctions are taking place today?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a Copper-grade estate auction,¡± said Vic, leaning over him to peer outside. ¡°There will be other items sold alongside yours, but nothing to warrant this kind of attention.¡±

    Harald¡¯s heart sank. ¡°You¡¯re not saying they¡¯re all here for me?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s precisely what I¡¯m saying, darling!¡± Vic¡¯s eyes gleamed. ¡°By the angels, I¡¯ve truly lucked into the best friend ever. You¡¯re going to make me rich or very, very dead, Harry. It¡¯s going to be a feeding frenzy in there. Poor Master Ling. He assuredly was not prepared for this level of interest in your books, carpets, and pisspots.¡±

    Harald tried not to feel like a sacrificial lamb as their carriage finally stopped before the sodden red carpet that had been rolled out to the curb, and leaped lightly down as Vic paid the driver. Servants stepped up with umbrellas, their handles angled so that they shielded only the guests, and they strode up the carpeted steps and out of the rain under the portico¡¯s stone awning.

    ¡°Welcome to the Platinum Rose Auction House!¡± beamed a beautiful young woman of Jade Empire ancestry, her dress metallic in hue and beautifully patterned to resemble the scales of a large, iridescent fish. ¡°Whom do I have the honor of welcoming today?¡±

    ¡°Victor Carmine,¡± said Vic, bowing slightly with a smile. ¡°And my erstwhile charge, Harald Darrowdelve.¡±

    Harald followed suit and bowed in the same manner.

    ¡°Master Darrowdelve!¡± The young woman¡¯s excitement was obvious. ¡°We are most pleased that you have arrived! Master Ling is anxiously awaiting your company. May I escort you to him?¡±

    Several of the other guests who¡¯d been talking and laughing close by grew silent at the lady¡¯s exclamation, and peered more carefully at Harald.

    ¡°Of course,¡± said Harald. ¡°We¡¯d be honored.¡±

    ¡°This way, please.¡± The hostess strode through the two broad doors that stood thrown open, their black lacquered faces covered with gleaming squares of crimson, and into the auction house proper.

    Harald tried to mask his shock as they stepped into the massive entrance hall.

    He¡¯d once thought Darrowdelve as a place of refinement and wealth, but in comparison to the Platinum Rose, he¡¯d clearly been raised in a moldering old dump.

    The ceiling was high overhead, so that it felt as if they entered an ornate cavern of the utmost refinement. The caramel floor tiles were large and polished to such a degree that they appeared wet, light shimmering off their surface, with great carved discs inlaid every few yards to add distinction. Glossy crimson columns as thick and tall as trees rose along the flanks, their pediments charcoal black, and partitioning a side aisle beyond them illuminated by hanging lanterns of fantastical design.

    Scale-lights set within carved beautifully carved boxes provided diffuse golden illumination, and between each column stood a massive vase, large enough to contain a full grown man, their sides so beautifully and intricately painted as to defy belief.

    But it was the head of the hall that drew the eye, a free-standing partition at the top of three broad steps of rose quartz that was more a reredos and altar that anything else, all lacquered crimson and black with a massive circle of gold embedded in its center around a set of Jade Empire pictograms that Harald couldn¡¯t read. Miniature trees flanked the altar of jet and gold, and everything, every aspect, every detail, spoke of exquisite taste and unlimited wealth.

    The hall was large enough to appear only scarcely crowded, but Harald guessed that a good fifty guests were already present, standing in small groups and talking animatedly as servants plied them with trays of drinks and appetizers.

    Their hostess, however, drew them quickly to a side door cunningly hidden behind one of the columns, and beside which stood an obvious warrior in crimson and gold armor.

    The murmur of the hall was silenced when she closed the door behind them. They¡¯d entered a miniature hall in its own right, all marble and slender columns, but with four doors along the right wall. The second was open, and within was an ostentatious study dominated by a broad desk of great beauty, the walls hung with scrolls covered in Jade pictograms or wistful, dreamlike renditions of foreign landscapes in black brushy ink.

    Master Ling stood behind the desk, attended by three assistants as he reviewed a ponderous scroll, but when their hostess bowed deeply he gestured and his assistants departed swiftly, silently, to leave Harald and Vic alone with him.

    ¡°Master Darrowdelve!¡± Ling¡¯s animation was at odds with his previously professional demeanor. ¡°Your arrival honors the Platinum Rose. May I send for tea, or refreshments?¡±

    ¡°Thank you, Master Ling, but I¡¯m quite all right.¡±

    ¡°I must admit, I had no idea that your estate would cause such a stir.¡± Master Ling beamed at him. ¡°Either my finger is not on the pulse of Flutic¡¯s interests, or you have done an incredible job of rousing said interest yourself.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m gratified,¡± said Harald, opting to play it safe. ¡°I¡¯d hoped for a good turnout, but this far exceeds my humble expectations.¡±

    ¡°And mine! Obviously the pieces we are putting up for sale are of the highest caliber, and come from a family of true distinction, so I am the fool for not guessing their consequent popularity. I have been notified that there are envoys from every major House, and several have already asked my employees as to your whereabouts. They seem almost more interested in yourself than our goods!¡±

    ¡°Right, yes.¡± Harald¡¯s smile turned into a grimace. ¡°I hope my being here doesn¡¯t distract everyone from the auction itself.¡±

    ¡°Hardly, hardly. No doubt they simply desire to wish you well and tender their respect for your illustrious father. Why, I¡¯ve been told Lady Hammerfell is here, leading the House Drakenhart contingent. Truly, my humble auction house is honored more than I can reasonably bare.¡±

    ¡°Lady Hammerfell is here?¡± Harald wondered how he¡¯d missed her in the crowd. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ I mean¡­¡±

    ¡°Yes, yes,¡± agreed Master Ling, beaming. ¡°I have been waiting your arrival so that we can work the crowd together. I would be delighted to effect whatever introductions you deem desirable.¡±

    ¡°Of course, thank you.¡± Harald tried not to feel overwhelmed. ¡°That would be most appreciated.¡±

    ¡°Now, before we engage in pleasantries, let me review the auction process.¡± Master Ling then quickly and efficiently outlined the schedule for the day, displayed the order in which all the items would be brought up for bidding, and explained how the bidding process itself worked.

    ¡°Well then!¡± Master Ling beamed. ¡°Shall we venture forth? Do not fear, Master Darrowdelve, I am an old hand at navigating such crowds. I shall be most attentive to your needs, and will seek to extract you at a moment¡¯s notice if I notice your displeasure. If it all becomes too much for you, there are many private waiting rooms to which you can retreat and await the outcomes of the bidding.¡±

    ¡°You are most kind, Master Ling. Thank you.¡±

    Vic had proven content to listen with avid interest up until this point, but now chose to smile graciously. ¡°Master Ling, we¡¯ll await you just outside your door. Surely you need a second or two to prepare yourself?¡±

    The old auctioneer didn¡¯t bat an eyelid. ¡°But of course, Master Carmine. You are too considerate. I shall be with you shortly.¡±

    Harald followed Vic outside and down the small hallway to the doors.

    ¡°The old goat has an agenda of his own,¡± murmured Vic, slipping his arm through Harald¡¯s. ¡°No doubt he plans to display you to his favorites first, and demonstrate his own importance by presenting himself as your guardian. Let¡¯s play along for as long as it suits us, yes? But when I notice him overstepping his bounds, do follow my lead.¡±

    ¡°Sure, yes.¡± Harald felt way out of his depth. The memory of the glittering entrance hall filled with important guests made his stomach sink. A minor lordling he might have been, but he¡¯d never frequented court, and his father had never entertained true nobility, preferring crowds drawn from the extended friends and family of his raiding crew. ¡°Any advice before we go out there?¡±

    Vic considered him. ¡°Appearances are everything, darling. If you emerge looking as scared as a field mouse, you¡¯ll only encourage everyone to act like starving hawks. But step out there looking like a warrior born, the man who rose by a thousand percent on the 4th Level, embrace your mystique, show no interest, affect disdain, and present yourself as a lion, and even the Gold-ranked raiders will approach you with caution. Remember: you are an unknown element. They shall be seeking desperately to determine which box to place you in. Don¡¯t let them. When in doubt, just smile. There is no need to answer any question, whether direct or indirect. Smile, incline your head as if acknowledging their wit, and then¡­ just walk away.¡±

    ¡°Just walk away,¡± repeated Harald. ¡°Unknown element. Embrace my mystique.¡±

    ¡°The angels wept,¡± said Vic. ¡°Try this: shoulders back, chest puffed, chin up. Imagine that at any moment you¡¯re going to strike them down with an imaginary sword.¡±

    The words worked like a charm: Harald could almost hear Nessa¡¯s bark, and immediately he settled himself, his posture straightening.

    ¡°Very good,¡± said Vic as Master Ling emerged from his office. ¡°Now. Into the fray.¡±

 Chapter 48

    Strains of violin music played over the crowd¡¯s murmur, a single virtuoso player drawing fluid, plaintive notes from their instrument. The crowd reacted as Master Ling led Harald and Vic back into the entrance hall by slowly turning, ripples of awareness spreading through the gathered groups, so that one could almost follow its passage to the far reaches of the hall.

    It wasn¡¯t his own ugly mug that was eliciting interest, Harald realized; it was the fact that Master Ling was escorting him with an air of intense gratification. The tenor of the conversations changed, going from a rippling, brook-like murmur to a more insectile hum, and Harald saw a dozen hungry gazes leveled at them as people turned so as to be more approachable.

    Wait.

    Not at him.

    At Victor, how strode with an air of studied indifference, his hands linked behind his back, golden ponytail reflecting the scale light, his handsome features and slender, warrior¡¯s frame the most obvious target for the mysterious ¡®Harald Darrowdelve¡¯.

    For a bitter moment Harald wished they¡¯d agreed to have Vic play the part, field the questions, handle the interactions. Surely Master Ling could have been persuaded?

    Ah well. He¡¯d just have to deal with everyone¡¯s surprise and barely concealed disappointment. Not that he hadn¡¯t been getting that treatment all his life.

    The crowd was fascinating. There were numerous striking individuals scattered throughout, most of them clearly raiders of some note, wearing their armor and with weapons scabbarded at hips or slung over their shoulders, but Harald¡¯s gaze was irresistibly pulled to one lady who towered over the rest, her awe-inspiring stature and commanding presence making her pre-eminent: Lady Hammerfell.

    It was toward her that Master Ling was leading them, and the crowd, acknowledging the Dragonslayer Knight¡¯s right to have the first conversation, melted aside before them to clear a path.

    It was hard to come to terms with Lady Hammerfell¡¯s physicality. She easily stood eight feel tall, and was clad in beautiful armor that was burnished to a dark sheen, its edging subtly inlaid with gold that caught the light. Her paldrons were ornate and bulky, each stylized to resemble a dragon, wings arching protectively over her shoulders, while her massive gauntlets were cunningly articulated and ended in sharp, claw-like tips.

    A red cloak as vivid as blood fell from her broad shoulders to pool at her feet, matching the crimson tabard that hung from her belt to drape down over her legs. A dagger at her hip would have been a short sword for anyone else, and the sword strapped to her back was a wonder. Harald doubted he¡¯d be able to lift it off the ground. It had to be over seven feet in length, it¡¯s hilt alone two feet long, all of it crafted from black metal, its blade broad, its crossguard formidable.

    Approaching her felt like approaching a figure out of legend, but her gaze was kind, her smile gentle. Burgundy hair framed her features, falling in twisting curls just past her shoulders, and their was in her dark gaze an unexpected compassion, even a hint of humor, that gave Harald the courage to square his shoulders and gaze up at the seventh most powerful raider in all of Flutic.

    ¡°Lady Hammerfell,¡± began Master Ling, pitching his voice to carry. ¡°You honor my humble auction house with your presence. The Platinum Rose holds Sir Gavriel Draken in the highest esteem, and you, my lady, do tower over all others in eminence.¡±

    Harald restrained the urge to wince over that pun.

    But Lady Hammerfell inclined her head graciously. She appeared almost twice the height of Master Ling, and even Harald, who was close to six feet himself, barely reached her chest in height.

    ¡°You are too kind, Master Ling.¡± Her voice was husky and resonant. ¡°It is always a pleasure to visit the Platinum Rose. May I introduce my companions?¡± She half turned, and three other individuals in crimson and black stepped forth, appearing like children beside her formidable presence. ¡°Sir Bandos, Sir Vargrave, and Lady Guilleme.¡±

    Harald recognized the names: they were all members of Lady Hammerfell¡¯s crew, and each a redoubtable warrior in their own right. But he could barely tear his eyes away from the formidable Gold-ranked warrior, so that the other three barely registered.

    ¡°And allow me to present you with the patron of today¡¯s esteemed auction,¡± said Master Ling, bowing low. ¡°Lord Harald Darrowdelve, scion of House Darrowdelve, and his companion, Victor Carmine.¡±

    All eyes visibly tore themselves away from Vic to consider Harald.

    How many times in his life had this happened? At least now Harald no longer felt like a half-baked bundt cake, doughy and uncooked. Instead, he resisted the urge to draw himself up, and bowed instead to Lady Hammerfell.

    ¡°My Lady,¡± he said when he straightened. ¡°I just read of your crew¡¯s exploits on the 63rd Level. Truly inspiring.¡±

    Lady Hammerfell¡¯s subtle smile remained upon her delicate lips, and though her gaze remained thoughtful, kind, Harald felt the full weight of her regard fall upon him, and in that moment truly appreciated the power of this woman. There was tremendous strength in her, strength beyond his comprehension, a strength that needed not to be exhibited, such was her own confidence in herself.

    ¡°It was a hard won victory, but I wish more credit had been given to my companions. Still, you are yourself deserving congratulations, are you not, Sir Darrowdelve?¡±

    Harald was painfully aware of the dozens of people listening in. He inclined his head. ¡°I had a lucky run, that¡¯s for sure. But honestly, I don¡¯t think my accomplishment on the 4th deserve to be anywhere close to what you all did on the 63rd. I¡¯m embarrassed to even have it mentioned in your company.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t,¡± said Lady Hammerfell gently. ¡°I have been raiding for over a decade now, and only three other times have I seen such a prodigious jump in scales.¡±

    ¡°So many?¡± asked Victor, leaning in. ¡°My, but I had thought Harald an unrivaled prodigy. May I ask whom these other wonders were?¡±

    ¡°Lady Seraphine¡¯s unmatched and near miraculous run six years ago,¡± said Sir Bandos, tone officious. He wore his brown hair cut close, and a thick mustache bristled over his lip. ¡°Larox¡¯s incredible if tragic run in 781, and of course, Darius Darrowdelve¡¯s own emergence with a Nightshard a dozen years ago.¡±

    ¡°Indeed,¡± said Lady Hammerfell. ¡°You are following in your father¡¯s footsteps, it seems.¡±

    Was that a hidden insinuation? Her expression remained benign, but was she aware of more than most about his father?

    Harald inclined his head. ¡°I doubt I¡¯ll ever match up to my father¡¯s accomplishments. But even he never slew a vortex hydra. I can¡¯t imagine how incredible a battle that must have been.¡±

    ¡°Perhaps I can tell you about it sometime soon,¡± said Lady Hammerfell. ¡°If you¡¯re curious? We could have tea.¡±

    The three members of her crew were watching him sharply, Sir Bandos practically glaring. The ring of people around them all but leaned in.

    Only Lady Hammerfell looked as if she¡¯d extended him a casual invitation and nothing more.

    ¡°Of course,¡± said Harald. How could he say no? And to be honest, he couldn¡¯t repress a thrill at being invited by such a legendary figure to sit and talk. It felt as if he¡¯d slipped into an alternate reality. ¡°I¡¯m at your disposal, Lady Hammerfell.¡±

    ¡°Wonderful,¡± said the titanic warrior. ¡°It was good to make your acquaintance, Sir Darrowdelve.¡±

    Harald bowed, and felt Master Ling¡¯s light touch at his elbow, subtly guiding him off to the left. ¡°I have some friends who are most interested in meeting you,¡± he whispered with obvious self-satisfaction. ¡°If you will step this way, Master Darrowdelve?¡±

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    But as their trio moved away from the Drakenhart contingent, Vic let out a cry of concern. ¡°Master Ling! My sincere apologies, but we forgot to mention a necessary amendment to the contract.¡±

    Master Ling frowned. ¡°Master Carmine, everything has been settled to everybody¡¯s satisfaction.¡±

    ¡°Alas, I just recalled that the rider to the fourth clause stipulates that commission rates are contingent upon bulk bidding, the norm for such estate sales. But surely we can agree that the number of interested parties has spiked, and most likely the items will be bid on in isolation? I believe we must trigger the clause and move to distinct rates.¡±

    Master Ling¡¯s outrage only betrayed itself in a slight clenching of his jaw. ¡°Surely you¡¯re joking, Master Carmine?¡±

    ¡°Alas,¡± said Vic. ¡°Our crude greed knows no bounds. Shall we review the clause?¡±

    Master Ling simply blinked, composing himself, then smiled. ¡°Of course. If you two will follow me?¡±

    ¡°Oh, Harald need not bother with such tedious affairs. Let¡¯s step aside the two of us and take care of the matter.¡±

    ¡°Very well.¡±

    Vic leaned in close to whisper casually in Harald¡¯s ear, ¡°I¡¯ll be right back. Just smile and assume an enigmatic silence.¡±

    Then both he and Master Ling were gone into the crowd.

    Harald linked his hands behind his back and looked around for a passing servant with a drink. Drinks were good. They gave you something to do with your hands.

    The crowd around him shifted, different factions gauging each other, and then, with the air of someone cutting the line, a young, dark skinned woman emerged from the crowd to approach him, a metallic card extended.

    ¡°Hello.¡± In comparison to Lady Hammerfell this newcomer appeared petite; Her black hair was gathered in furrows whose length were bound back into a large bun, and her features were delicate, almost doll-like; her expression was severe, her youth startling, her gaze sharp and fierce.

    Her outfit insinuated armor without actually being effectively protective; one large bronze pauldron, gauntlets, armored kneepads over a bodysuit of black, with a royal blue tabard and cloak that gradated to a virulent orange whose hem flickered and danced as if made from living flame. Twin belts were crossed over her hips, a scabbarded arming sword hanging from each.

    The card was wafer-thin brushed metal, and upon it was incised characters with alien precision; a quick glance revealed her information:

    Anita Lothbury

    Silver Ranked

    Scaleshaper Savant 9

    House Emberfell

    ¡°Miss Lothbury,¡± said Harald.

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid I¡¯m going to have to make this quick,¡± said Anita, frowning up at him. ¡°And hope that I¡¯m not wasting each other¡¯s time. House Emberfell is always on the lookout for enterprising and ambitious talent. Your near 1,000% increase in scales is remarkable, almost as remarkable as our Lord Blaze¡¯s dream: of returning Flutic to its former glory.¡±

    ¡°A laudable dream,¡± allowed Harald, tapping her card against his palm.

    Anita searched his face. ¡°Does the sight of vines hanging from the elevated scale-train tracks not pain you? The hundreds upon hundreds of dead scale-lights down the thoroughfares? Have you not glimpsed long dormant scale-golems, moldering in abandoned warehouses, and wondered what the city must once have been like, when it hummed and vibrated with such wondrous power?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ve a scale carriage gathering dust in our barn,¡± allowed Harald. ¡°And yes. But scale extraction has fallen to such terribly low levels that surely returning to the past is but a dream?¡±

    ¡°Only if we sought to use scales as our ancestors did: wantonly, foolishly, crudely.¡± Anita¡¯s passion burned bright in her eyes. ¡°House Emberfell is dedicated to refining and improving on that old technology, so that we can do ten times as much with one tenth the scales. Master Darrowdelve, I know this must all sound esoteric and farfetched, but Lord Blazes¡¯s dream isn¡¯t old glory for old glory¡¯s sake: he wants to change Flutic, harness the power of the Fallen Angel to level the playing field and uplift the poor, the broken, those who scrabble in the Shambles and every other forgotten corner of our city. It¡¯s scales that shaped Flutic as it is; only through scales can we reshape it to as it should be.¡±

    Such was Anita¡¯s conviction that her voice fairly shook with emotion.

    ¡°That¡¯s¡­ that¡¯s an incredible dream,¡± said Harald.

    ¡°And to turn it into reality, House Emberfell needs more than just engineers and savants. We need frontline warriors who can furnish us with research material. Listen.¡± She placed her bronze gauntlet upon his arm. ¡°If any of this resonates with you, if you desire power for more than just personal glory, if you¡¯ve any interest whatsoever in making a difference for all of Flutic, and not just yourself, come see me. Present my card at the entrance to the Emberfell Crafting Hall. And I¡¯ll show you wonders you¡¯ll not believe. Yes?¡±

    ¡°I¡­ yes.¡± Her stare was so intense that Harald felt half-mesmerized. ¡°Thank you.¡±

    Anita took a step back, inclined her head, then swept her burning cloak around and strode off into the crowd.

    Bemused, Harald examined her card once more. How had they crafted such a smooth, delicate object? The lettering was not inked into the metal, but appeared¡­ embossed and burned in? The edges were smooth, the whole of it glossy and perfect. By the angels, there even was a subtle watermark: the sigil of House Emberfell that only appeared if you tilted the card just so toward the light.

    Feeling himself watched, Harald raised his eyes and saw Ustim Flowervault studying him from across the hall. The older man immediately looked away, pretending to have not noticed Harald, and smiled as he accepted a flute of champagne.

    Great. What was he doing here?

    Vic appeared, two flutes of white wine in hand. ¡°Ah, good. You still have all your limbs.¡±

    Harald exchanged the card for a glass. ¡°You were only gone for a minute or two.¡±

    ¡°It felt like leaving a lamb in a wolf¡¯s den. A minute is all it takes.¡± Vic scanned the card, turned it around, then nodded with grudging respect, eyebrows raised as if in surprise. ¡°Well, isn¡¯t this a pretty thing. Miss Lothbury wasted no time in attacking you while I was gone.¡±

    ¡°She had a very different sales pitch.¡± Harald half turned around as he spoke quietly to ensure nobody was standing too close. ¡°About re-activating the dead wonders of Flutic for the benefit of the poor.¡±

    Vic snorted. ¡°Please. Did she ask for a donation for the Lotus House while she was at it?¡±

    ¡°Lotus House?¡±

    ¡°The house for reformed prostitutes,¡± said Vic, again affecting surprise. ¡°I¡¯ve never dragged you there? Harry-boy, they have the best parties.¡±

    Harald gave his head a brisk shake as if clearing it of unwelcome thoughts. ¡°Never mind, I should have known better. Still, Miss Lothbury was¡­ intense. She invited me to come see the inside of the Craft Hall.¡±

    ¡°And of course you said yes?¡±

    Harald nodded.

    ¡°Harald, don¡¯t tell me you now also care about the poor?¡±

    ¡°Well, I¡¯m not averse to helping them.¡±

    ¡°But there are so many of them, Harald, and they¡¯re usually uneducated, unpleasant, and unsavory in the odor department. Trust me, I know, I was poor once. A most unpleasant experience.¡±

    ¡°Your opinion is duly noted, Vic,¡± said Harald sardonically.

    ¡°Good. Much better to focus our sights on the obscenely rich. Speaking of, here we go. Looks like House Thornvale¡¯s about to make their move.¡±

    A man was approaching them in an unhurried manner, the crowd subtly parting for him. Of medium height and slender stature, he wore a beautiful suit of plate armor, its black surface swirled with abstract curls, and was so finely crafted and articulated that he moved with the utmost ease. But it was his forest green cloak that caught the eye: it was tattered, its hem torn, but vines enmeshed it as if the cloak were alive; they encircled his shoulders, extended from its fabric only to sink back in, the whole of it subtly rippling and imparting upon its wearer a wild, fey aspect.

    The man approached, eyes closed, his lashes long upon his unnaturally gray skin. Ash gray hair fell across his face in wild locks, and fine vertical scars ran down his left brow to his cheek. His features were those of a young man, but mostly obscured by a metal facemask that covered the lower half of his face; it sported the same abstract swirls as his armor, seemed part of the set, and gave him a look that was part assassin, part death¡¯s-head.

    ¡°Thracos,¡± whispered Vic, his tone sober, wary. ¡°A rising star in House Thornvale. I¡¯ve heard he raids with no crew, but still brings in more scales than the other Silver-ranked teams combined. What the fuck is he doing here?¡±

    Harald watched the green and black raider approach, his eyes still closed, his steps graceful, certain, his cloak writhing and rustling with living greenery.

    Everybody was giving him a wide berth.

    ¡°Sir Thracos,¡± called Vic, waving cheerfully. ¡°Over here. You can¡¯t miss us.¡±

    At this the man did open his eyes, gazing at them both from under his dark brows. He¡¯d clearly known exactly where they stood. A moment later he stopped before them, and Harald realized the man had his own distinct scent; he smelled of wild, dark, green places, of the earth and trees, of shadowed dells and still ponds lost under tight canopies.

    ¡°Victor Carmine.¡± Thracos¡¯ voice was silk drawn over steel. ¡°It¡¯s good to meet you at last.¡±

    Vic drew himself up, surprised. ¡°Why, you¡¯ve heard of me?¡±

    ¡°Oh yes. Countess Sonora¡¯s yapping lapdog. It¡¯s said you carry yourself as if you were Gold-ranked, but have been a Copper for so long the Gazette doesn¡¯t bother listing your name anymore. Ah well.¡±

    Vic didn¡¯t outwardly react, but Harald knew him well enough to immediately sense his friend¡¯s seething fury.

    But Thracos had turned to Harald and narrowed his gaze as he stared at him. It was a piercing stare, fearsomely intense, and without any concern for discretion or social niceties.

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid we¡¯re not in the habit of conversing with ambulatory hedgegroves,¡± said Vic, linking his arm with Harald¡¯s. ¡°Let¡¯s move on, shall we?¡±

    ¡°Ah,¡± said Thracos at last. ¡°It¡¯s as I suspected.¡±

    Vic began to pull Harald away.

    ¡°I see the cause of your rapid ascent,¡± whispered Thracos, voice carrying with eerie effect to Harald¡¯s ear. ¡°The nature of your true patron. I dare you to walk away from me, Darrowdelve.¡±

    Harald froze, glanced back.

    Thracos hadn¡¯t moved, was studying him sidelong, and despite the metal mask, Harald could swear the man was smiling. ¡°I shudder think of the consequences if word were to get out. That Harald Darrowdelve was following in his father¡¯s footsteps in a manner far darker than anyone could guess.¡±

    Harald turned to face the man full on. He felt numb, tremulous, shook. How could Thracos know? Was he bluffing?

    ¡°Have fun today,¡± whispered the Thornvale warrior. ¡°You will entertain all offers, make a show of considering their merit, then you will decline them and enroll in House Thornvale.¡±

    Thracos turned to leave, then glanced back over his shoulder, vines whispering around his cloak. ¡°If you don¡¯t, we shall destroy you.¡±

    And then he closed his eyes, bowed his head, and walked away.

 Chapter 49

    Harald watched the House Thornvale warrior walk away, and only realized belatedly that his fists were clenched. A murderous instinct arose within him, a violent and mad desire to plunge after the man and destroy him.

    But that truly was mad; not only was Thracos far too powerful, but that wouldn¡¯t remove House Thornvale as a threat.

    ¡°Well,¡± murmured Vic, smiling and turning to exchange glasses adroitly with a passing servant. ¡°Relax, Harald. We¡¯re being watched.¡±

    ¡°Relax?¡± Harald all but hissed through his teeth.

    ¡°Of course. So what if you¡¯ve been blackmailed by an egregiously untrimmed bush. We¡¯re in the public eye, and everyone is drinking in the consequences of that exchange.¡±

    Harald willed himself to open his hands, and for a moment simply occupied himself with draining his glass. The wine was light, fruity, and delicious; in moments it was gone, and when he exchanged it with another servant, he felt marginally in control of himself, if not the situation.

    ¡°Vic,¡± he said, pitching his voice low even as he willed his expression into one of genial neutrality. ¡°What the hell was that?¡±

    ¡°My mind¡¯s scrambling for an explanation,¡± agreed Vic. ¡°People are calling me a yapping lapdog? I can¡¯t believe it. I refuse.¡±

    That more than anything helped Harald ground, and when he looked to his friend, brow raised, Vic put a hand to his chest. ¡°I¡¯m insulted. I really am.¡±

    ¡°I feel your pain, and pray to the Fallen Angel that you recover your poise and sterling reputation. In the meantime, I was hoping you could reflect on what Thracos said to me.¡±

    ¡°Oh, that.¡± Vic sniffed. ¡°Yes. I would venture to place his words in the ¡®not good¡¯ category. What do you think?¡±

    ¡°That I should have brought Nessa.¡±

    ¡°Nessa would have fought you every inch of the way into this place, and I do mean with a naked blade. No, your best alternative would have been Sam, and¡ªwell. Enough said on that front.¡±

    Harald simply shook his head and stared morosely out across the hall. It had grown surprisingly crowded, though there were obvious centers of gravity that pulled people into the orbit of key figures. Lady Hammerfell was one such, her formidable frame elevating her above the mass of admirers that surrounded her. A Jade Empire warrior wearing the silver and sky blue of House Silvershield was another, his graceful poise and refined attitude making him an island of stillness amidst the conversation that was taking place around him. He spotted Anita Lothbury with a few other Emberfell members close to the auction house entrance, and a couple of House Celestara dignitaries who were watching from the hall¡¯s far side, clearly keeping a pulse on the situation.

    The crowd parted, and a woman in her late twenties approached, clad in regal attire that spoke to her elevated station. She affected none of the martial accents that most others present seemed to prefer; her gown of rich golden brocade flowed to the ground, the bodice cinched tight and a marvel of craftsmanship, embellished with ornate, geometric patterns and studded with precious stones.

    Her burnished orange-red hair was styled with precision, swept up and held in place by jeweled clasps, and her deeply freckled face was marked by a look of sharp intelligence and an unyielding gaze. Pearl earrings offset the small white ruff from her high-collared gown, and though her clothing and bearing were stiff, her face was alive with curiosity.

    ¡°Ah, Countess Sonora,¡± said Vic, bowing low with a flourish. ¡°The day is saved.¡±

    ¡°Victor.¡± The countess came to a stop before the pair of them, but her vivid hazel-green eyes were on Harald. ¡°The pair of you have caused quite the stir.¡±

    ¡°May I introduce the cause of the hubbub, the estimable Sir Harald Darrowdelve.¡± Vic gestured as he half-bowed and stepped back.

    ¡°Countess Sonora.¡± Harald inclined his head graciously. ¡°You¡¯ve been a true ally during my times of need. I can¡¯t thank you enough for your generosity.¡±

    ¡°If I recall correctly, I strong-armed you into a predatory interest rate.¡± The countess smiled wryly. ¡°And now find myself as little more than a low-ranked petitioner interested in taking your measure. You must be sick of being evaluated and fielding offers veiled in flowery language.¡±

    ¡°Some not so veiled,¡± said Harald. ¡°But I mean it when I say you saved my honor by vouching for my duel. You had no cause other than Victor¡¯s word to put so much wealth on the line. I truly appreciate it.¡±

    ¡°Then I¡¯ll cease insisting on my mercenary motives and instead accept your gratitude.¡± She inclined her head, her smile never quite leaving her lips. ¡°Victor must have warned you this would happen once you registered your leap in power with the Mining Consortium.¡±

    ¡°He hinted at it, yes.¡±

    ¡°I did more than hint, but what could be done? Harald here had already achieved the impossible and chosen to display his prowess for all the world to see. It was too late for me to intervene.¡±

    ¡°This is where I ask how you did it,¡± said the countess, ¡°and you politely deflect my interest. I then probe as to your intentions and if you¡¯re open to such a modest patron as myself, and you express gratitude for my interest but refuse to commit. I leverage Vic¡¯s loyalty to secure a private audience, and you accept out of obligation born of misplaced gratitude. I depart, you bow, and my calling card is quickly shuffled to the bottom of the deck.¡± The countess accepted a drink from a passing servant, sipped it, and turned away to survey the crowd. ¡°A tiresome business. Shall we skip it?¡±

    ¡°If you like.¡± Harald studied the countess, bemused. She was strikingly beautiful, though in a manner distinct from the polished perfection of the high ranked raiders; where their beauty had been cultivated by the absorption of scales, hers appeared natural, with the overabundance of freckles, harsh cheekbones, and barely masked exhaustion under her eyes somehow elevating her beauty, making it more striking, more real.

    The countess was tapping her glass against her lower lip as Vic made a quiet report on a private affair; when he finally stepped back, she sighed, nodded, then glanced back to Harald.

    ¡°Sir Darrowdelve, I won¡¯t presume to waste your time when you¡¯re in such high demand. I¡¯d hoped to corner you and secure an oath of loyalty, had even prepared an impassioned speech that would tug on your heart strings, but, well.¡± Her smile was self-deprecating. ¡°Why align yourself with a small house such as mine when you can accept the patronage of House Drakenhart itself? So.¡± She extended her hand. ¡°Let¡¯s part as friends and leave it at that.¡±

    Harald raised her knuckles to his lips, and surprised himself by blurting out, ¡°Countess Sonora, perhaps I could come by your estate, ah, with Victor here at your convenience? I have the means now to settle our debt, and perhaps we could¡­¡± He drew a blank, and was saved by the memory of Lady Hammerfell. ¡°¡­ have tea?¡±

    ¡°Tea?¡± Countess Sonora raised a dark brow. ¡°But of course, Sir Darrowdelve. My social calendar is a barren wasteland. Drop by at your convenience.¡±

    Vic bowed low as she departed, and for a moment both men simply watched her go.

    ¡°So that was Countess Sonora,¡± said Harald.

    ¡°She¡¯s a breath of fresh air, isn¡¯t she?¡± Vic grinned. ¡°I knew I could work for her after she called me out on my innuendoes with all the frankness of a fishwife. I confess I didn¡¯t know how to respond, then blushed for perhaps the third time in my life.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s definitely unlike every other noblewoman I¡¯ve met. How did she come to be so¡­ direct?¡±

    ¡°Her grandfather was a raider of some fame at the turn of the century. Like your father, I suppose. But he also proved to be a canny politician and forged an alliance with House Drakenhart, as well as investing his wealth in a Marheim tin mine. When this proved immensely profitable, he expanded into owning interests in a dozen Marheim foundries. Her father was cut from the same cloth; he raided for most his youth, then settled down to expand their mercantile interests.

    ¡°Countess Sonora was an only daughter, and her father, well. I think he decided to simply pretend he¡¯d had a son, and raised her in such manner. She toured their ownings in Marheim a dozen times growing up, and trained at war with mercenaries, the captain of their guard, as well as a private fencing instructor that she badgered her father into providing. She¡¯s more at home hunting boar from horseback then wearing those incredible dresses. You should see how she curses them in private.¡±

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    ¡°I see.¡± Harald rubbed the back of his head. ¡°But what happened to her father¡¯s financial empire?¡±

    ¡°The Marheim civil war¡¯s what happened.¡± Vic shook his head. ¡°Their holdings were claimed by the Black Iron Baron a decade ago, and five years later their tin mine ostensibly played out. Anna believes it was calculated; the Baron¡¯s move to starve her family of the finances necessary to hire a significant military force, then the mine itself when they felt safe from her wrath. And, well, they were right.¡±

    Harald shook his head. ¡°Bad luck.¡±

    ¡°Not quite.¡± Vic smiled coldly. ¡°There¡¯s evidence that some local Flutic lords took advantage of the situation to ensure the downfall of her family. Her father, well. It seemed he made enemies by sneaking into boudoirs he had no business being in. The outraged lords have been sharpening their knives for years.¡±

    ¡°Count Gorkin.¡±

    ¡°Indeed. Her father had a terrible end. Ruination, loss of his holdings, impoverishment, and then when he was at his worst, he disappeared. The countess swears he was killed, but has no proof. So now she struggles on alone, refusing to bend knee, but fortunately for her, she has Victor Carmine at her side.¡±

    ¡°So it¡¯s a true tragedy, through and through.¡±

    Vic scowled at him. ¡°It would have been had Nessa and I not had our hearts¡¯ broken by her plight and agreed to help. As is, she¡¯s holding on by her fingertips. For a countess, that is. As I said before, she could accept defeat and become a wealthy Baronet by tomorrow, but that would complete Gorlick and his shadowy cabal¡¯s victory, so she refuses.¡±

    Harald saw the countess depart the auction hall, pulling a rich cloak over her shoulders as a servant raised an anticipatory umbrella. Unlike the other lords and ladies present, she left alone, without hanger¡¯s ons or servants of her own.

    ¡°Looks like you¡¯re drawn to broken nobles, Vic. I detect a pattern.¡±

    ¡°What can I say?¡± Vic put his hand to his chest. ¡°Despite my ironic exterior, within my chest beats a heart of gold.¡±

    ¡°Right. Well.¡±

    Vic eyed him. ¡°Careful, Harry-boy. You¡¯ve the same pensive look I had before agreeing to help her.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not that. It¡¯s just obvious that she¡¯s had a hard time of it. I admire her tenacity.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s exactly what I said to Nessa. She threw a rotten persimmon at my head and declared me a fool. Three years later, here we are.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not as if I have a choice, after all,¡± said Harald quietly. ¡°Given what Thracos said.¡±

    ¡°Fuck Thracos in the goat-ass.¡± Vic finished his wine. ¡°We¡¯ll find a way to cut his throat and convince House Thornvale to leave you well enough alone.¡±

    ¡°Didn¡¯t you say Thornvale¡¯s had a meteoric ascent in power? How are we supposed to do that, exactly.¡±

    ¡°A meteoric ascent that we can now deduce was fueled by nefarious means.¡± Vic crossed his arms and stared across the crowd to where Thracos stood with other House Thornvale warriors. ¡°And while I obviously don¡¯t know how we¡¯re going to get you out of this yet, I¡¯ll be damned if I just allow you to roll over and give up.¡±

    ¡°I never said I would.¡± Harald resisted the urge to reach for another glass of wine. ¡°I just don¡¯t know how to fight them yet. The moment I do, however, I¡¯ll go for the throat.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s the spirit. Ah. Master Ling¡¯s about to commence the festivities.¡±

    Master Ling rang a delicate bell, and soon all conversation stilled, attention moving to the front of the hall.

    ¡°Ladies and gentlemen, distinguished visitors all, the estate auction is about to begin. Please, move to the left bidding gallery, and take your seats!¡±

    To Harald¡¯s surprise only half the crowd began to drift forward, while the remainder either stayed in place or began filtering toward the exit.

    ¡°Alas,¡± murmured Vic, looping his arm through Harald¡¯s and leading him forward. ¡°It seems you were the main attraction, and not your belongings.¡±

    People he¡¯d never met or even seen before nodded to him as they passed the central retaining wall with its altar, and then descended a few steps into what looked like a church of the Fallen Angel.

    Pews were lined up on both sides of a central aisle, leading to a raised dais at the hall¡¯s far end, where a lectern was set to one side and a display table covered in a white cloth in the center. Flowering miniature trees grew up along the walls, and the lighting here was dimmer, so that the audience sat in a dusky twilight.

    Harald and Vic were singled out by a hostess, and taken to a cunningly hidden spiral staircase set just within the wall. This one was of several, Harald noted, each giving access to a balcony just overhead whose interior was shielded by black lacquered weave.

    Their balcony was broad enough for three seats, and these were luxurious, the lacquered weave easy for them to peer out through while providing obfuscation from the crowd below.

    ¡°Not everyone who wishes to bid desires to have their interest made public,¡± said Vic, stretching out with a sigh, then springing back up to bend over a small shelf of bottles that he¡¯d just noticed. ¡°Not that I¡¯ve ever been up in one of these, but my doing so is long overdue.¡±

    Harald watched the crowd below, seeking recognizable faces. Lady Hammerfell didn¡¯t make an appearance, but Sir Bandos was there, stiff and staring straight ahead. Miss Anita Lothbury was in evidence, as was the silver and sky-blue clad lord of House Silvershield, his demeanor calm, his bearing distinguished. No members of House Thornvale, though the observers from House Celestara were also present.

    Master Ling appeared on the stage, and gave an overly verbose introduction, going on at length about Darrowdelve Manor¡¯s many wonders and luxuries, and how gratified he was to see such a strong turnout in his humble auction house.

    ¡°By the gods Master Ling likes to hear himself talk,¡± yawned Vic, popping open a small bottle of champagne. ¡°Bubbly?¡±

    ¡°No, thanks.¡± Harald¡¯s stomach was taut with tension. Servants were moving upon the stage. A printed copy of the estate sale was on a shelf by his elbow, and it felt strangely awful now to see his possessions brought out into the stark light.

    Sinking back into his chair, he ignored Master Ling¡¯s voluble descriptions of his father¡¯s silverware, the painted vases, the decorative steel plates forged in Dumr?n.

    ¡°I fear the excitement is over,¡± said Vic. ¡°Still, we must see this through. With a little luck we¡¯re due to raise a Zenith Tide by the time we¡¯re done.¡±

    The bidding on the first set began at a single Golden Dawn. 100 scales, an aggressively low starting point meant to incite eager participation.

    ¡°The finest dwarven plates, inlaid, as you can see in this example, with polished steel dioramas portraying the grand entrance to Dumr?n itself. Exquisite craftsmanship! Not to mention this complete silverware set with over ninety items. And more! Do we see an initial bid?¡±

    Miss Lothbury raised a golden token that indicated another Golden Dawn.

    ¡°Thank you, that¡¯s two Goldens, do we have -¡±

    The silver and blue wearing member of House Silvershield raised an iridescent fan.

    ¡°An Aurora Veil Driftshell and two Goldens from Sir Jin, very nice, very nice. Do we have another?¡±

    Sir Bandos raised his iridescent fan.

    ¡°Two Auroras, two Silvers for this very fine set of dwarven plates, a complete and exquisite set of silverware, along with four elegant vases and assorted kitchen items! Do we¡ªoh.¡±

    One of the House Celestara agents had raised another fan, which was immediately followed by Sir Bandos raising another. Lord Jin raised a third.

    ¡°Lovely, remarkable, we¡¯re at five Aurora Veils and two Silvers from Lord Jin of House Silvershield, a wonderfully perceptive bid, these are items of unmatched quality¡ª¡±

    ¡°What the actual fuck?¡± hissed Vic, leaning forward to peer through the woven slats. ¡°That lot¡¯s estimated to be worth a single Aurora Veil at most.¡±

    Sir Bandoes grimaced and raised a deep blue fan.

    Master Ling blinked, momentarily unsure of himself, then smiled broadly and bowed to the knight. ¡°A Zenith Tide from Sir Bandos of House Drakenhart, beautiful, ravishing, putting us at 15,300 scales.¡±

    The crowd stirred.

    ¡°What the hell is going on?¡± whispered Vic. ¡°They¡¯re not bidding on those stupid dwarven plates, are they?¡±

    ¡°Those were my mother¡¯s plates,¡± protested Harald woodenly.

    ¡°Fuck your mother¡¯s dwarven plates.¡± Vic turned to stare at Harald, eyes wide. ¡°They¡¯re bidding on you, Harry-boy. Look at Master Ling. I think he¡¯s already ejaculated twice into his breeches. This is going to get wild.¡±

    Lord Jin raised a deep blue fan.

    ¡°Another strong raise! Fabulous shining bliss! We¡¯re at 25,300 scales from Sir Jin. Do we have a counter? Going once? Going twice? Going thrice? Gone to the illustrious Lord Jin for two Zenith Tides, five Aurora Veils, and three Golden Dawns!¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re joking,¡± croaked Harald.

    Lord Jin¡¯s expression remained serene, but he raised his face to stare directly at Harald through the woven slats as if he could see him clear as day. Harald¡¯s eyes widened, but the House Silvershield warrior merely inclined his head a fraction of an inch, then turned back to the stage.

    Vic¡¯s grip on Harald¡¯s arm could have crushed stone. ¡°Darling. Didn¡¯t we write into the crew contract that all profits from this auction were going into the crew fund?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± said Harald, fighting the urge to laugh. ¡°We absolutely didn¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°A crime. If that¡¯s what they bid for your mother¡¯s dwarven plate¡­¡±

    ¡°But what do they think¡¯s going to happen?¡± Harald watched as the auction house employees began rolling out a series of family tapestries hung from metal frames on wheels. ¡°That I¡¯ll simply agree to join whomever spends the most scales on me?¡±

    ¡°Actually? Yes. This has turned into an arena, Harald. Of course! How obtuse I¡¯ve been. Of course they¡¯d think of this as a means to contest for your interest. I mean, a Zenith Tide is nothing for a major House, but it¡¯s a way to force pre-eminence amongst rivals and impress upon you their willingness to invest scales and power in your rise.¡±

    ¡°But fuck, Vic.¡± Harald felt like he was drowning. ¡°They don¡¯t even know my class. I¡¯ve only Ascended to one Throne. This is absurd.¡±

    ¡°Ah, darling, how little you know.¡± Vic relaxed, lounging back in his chair. ¡°Harvesting rates are at a cataclysmic low. Worse, the Iron Levels are about played out. You know this. Which means new graduates of the Academy or enterprising free agents have to either spend years killing pathetic monsters to eke some measure of growth, or dive into the deeper floors before they¡¯re ready and be butchered.¡±

    ¡°But the Houses could just invest scales in them and help them Ascend quickly.¡±

    ¡°And their levels, darling?¡±

    Harald frowned. Of course Vic was right. Scales could help you Ascend, could open your Thrones to empower your Abilities, but Levels only came as a result of experience.

    ¡°Precisely,¡± said Vic, nodding knowledgeably. ¡°And then along comes Harry-boy, cute as a button and twice as round¡ªwell, all right, no longer the case¡ªalong comes Sir Darrowdelve, hulking and surprisingly muscled, and he leaps 1,000% while raiding on the 4th Level. Either you¡¯ve hit upon a trick that will benefit the rest of their House, or you¡¯re the next Seraphine the Skyward Blade.¡±

    ¡°Or I¡¯ve made a deal with a demon,¡± muttered Harald.

    ¡°Which, it seems, House Thornvale is intent on capitalizing on. As well as our Lord Jin down there, if your father¡¯s letter is to be believed.¡±

    Harald leaned forward again to study the House Silvershield warrior. Handsome, refined, and utterly composed, he looked as far from a demon-worshipper as Harald could imagine.

    ¡°Fuck me,¡± he muttered, pulling at his face.

    ¡°Five gorgeous tapestries!¡± called forth Master Ling, beaming in ecstatic anticipation. ¡°Remarkably woven and in peerless condition! Shall we start the bidding at¡­ five Aurora Veils!?¡±

 Chapter 50

    Harald couldn¡¯t sit there and watch the crowd bid on his soul.

    For that¡¯s what it felt like.

    Each time a House representative offered another absurd amount for a commonplace household item he squirmed, and that discomfort gave rise to anger.

    ¡°Do they think they can just buy me?¡± he hissed to Vic, who was busy noodling about in the depths of the liquor cabinet.

    ¡°Um, yes?¡± Vic held up a tiny, dusty bottle, and wiped the label. ¡°Ooh, this is dwarven whisky! I might just steal it.¡±

    Harald scowled at the activity below. ¡°Can we trust Master Ling to give me an accurate commission? Do I need to be here to watch and make sure he doesn¡¯t rob me?¡±

    ¡°Hmm?¡± Vic glanced over his shoulder at him. ¡°Oh, Master Ling will be scrupulously honest. The reputation of the Platinum Rose depends on his reliability.¡±

    Harald stood. ¡°Then let¡¯s go.¡±

    ¡°Go?¡± Vic¡¯s dismay was almost comic. ¡°We haven¡¯t even availed ourselves of the¡ª¡±

    Harald left the balcony chamber. The tightly spiraled staircase descended to two doors: one let out into the bidding hall, the opposite into a private corridor. This he pushed open, peered up and down, and then set off with long strides.

    ¡°Harald! Darling!¡± Vic chased after him. ¡°What are you doing? You¡¯re the star of this entire show!¡±

    ¡°Forget that.¡± Harald¡¯s mood was darkening by the moment. The hallway ended at a narrow lacquered doorway which led out into the main entrance hall. A sparse crowd remained, intent on their own business, but Harald ignored them as he strode down the length of the wall toward the main doors.

    The rain had increased from a mist to a mild downpour; Harald strode right through the guests clustered beneath the portico and out into the bad weather, down the steps, ignoring the carriages, and began making his way out of the grand square.

    Vic looked as pleased as a cat fished out of a pool. ¡°Harald! By the Fallen Angel¡¯s bellicose tits, what the hell? Are you too good for carriages now?¡±

    Harald resisted the urge to break into a run. He strode along, jaw clenched, until Vic caught hold of his elbow and with surprising strength spun him around.

    ¡°This is unconscionable!¡± Vic glared at him, rain running down his face. ¡°I only managed to steal the bare minimum, and now we¡¯re going for a walk in the bloody rain?¡±

    Harald couldn¡¯t put his inchoate rage into words. It just kept building. Rising like the flames of a funeral pyre, leaping ever upward into a dark sky.

    Vic studied him, perplexed. ¡°You don¡¯t like scales? You hate leveraging your advantages? Or is it that Thornvale nonsense?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s all of it, Vic.¡± Harald forced the words out. ¡°It¡¯s the whole damn lot of them. Pawing at me, evaluating me, trying to coerce me onto their chess boards as their latest pawn. That Lord Jin, smirking at me as he paid a fortune for my father¡¯s books. Lady Hammerfell asking me to come for tea. All of them evaluating me, measuring me, trying to find a way to own me.¡±

    ¡°Oh Harry.¡± Vic shook his head. ¡°That¡¯s life. That¡¯s Flutic, and it always has been. What, did you think they¡¯d ask your opinion on the matter? Politely inquire as to your life ambitions, and then explore how they could further your goals?¡±

    ¡°I want them to leave me alone!¡± Harald¡¯s snarl was accompanied by his chopping at the air with a swing of his arm. ¡°I want to gain power, I want to fight Vorakhar, I want to train, I want to acquire scales, I want to take care of my friends, and that¡¯s all! I don¡¯t want to be anybody¡¯s possession, to have my moves and loyalties dictated, to be toyed with by a crowd of jaded assholes who think they can own my soul with a handful of scales!¡±

    ¡°A noble albeit naive sentiment,¡± said Vic. ¡°Look, darling, I¡¯m a compassionate soul, but wake the fuck up. We don¡¯t get what we want in this world. As my dear grandmother used to say, we aim for the stars and we land in the treetops. This is life. You drew attention to yourself, and now you must dance to the tune of the mighty.¡±

    Harald pinched the bridge of his nose. ¡°I don¡¯t want to.¡±

    ¡°Well boo the fucking hoo.¡± Vic¡¯s tone was still kind. ¡°You¡¯ve lived a life of privilege, Harry, but mostly because you never drew any attention. Well, you have it now. And running away into the rain won¡¯t change a thing.¡±

    ¡°No?¡± Harald considered. ¡°They all want a piece of me for now, right? Until the next exciting thing comes along?¡±

    ¡°Well,¡± allowed Vic, considering, ¡°the odds of someone hitting a 1,000% gain in the next few months are slim.¡±

    ¡°Maybe I can play them against each other. Maybe I can delay until I¡¯m powerful enough to stand on my own feet. Maybe I can disappear.¡±

    ¡°Disappear?¡±

    ¡°Lady Yseult spoke of Questing Hermits. Raiders who just stay in the dungeon. It sounded mad before, but now I can understand the impulse.¡±

    ¡°High ranking raiders, Harald. Who can fend for themselves for weeks on end. Who know how to survive in the dungeon, where to sleep, how to acquire food, water, and not go mad after losing all track of time. Not to mention that they¡¯re able to survive in the deeper levels that have actual ecosystems, not barren mazes of hallways like the 4th.¡±

    ¡°Then maybe I don¡¯t stay there permanently. I just spend a lot of time in the dungeon, come up for air, as it were, then go back down. They can¡¯t coerce me if I¡¯m not around.¡±

    ¡°And you¡¯ll find a quaint little garret in the Shambles to hide in, so that even when you go home they¡¯ll not know where you are?¡±

    Harald raised his chin. ¡°Sure. I need to find a new home once the Manor is taken from me.¡±

    ¡°Nice try. You think nobody¡¯s attempted it before? How hard do you think it is for them to place lookouts at the Dungeon Portal and stop you as you come and go?¡±

    Harald scowled.

    ¡°Harald. Darling. Look at me. This isn¡¯t nearly as bad as you¡¯re making it out to be. House patronage comes with definite perks. You gain access to resources, wealth, and powerful allies who can tell people like Ustim Flowervault to go to hell. Yes, you have to take orders, but none of us are truly free. The art of living involves finding beauty within constraints. And you? You¡¯re spoiled for choice. Unlike almost anyone I know, you get to pick your patron and decide what manner of life you¡¯ll live.¡±

    ¡°And Thornvale?¡±

    Vic winced. ¡°Yes, a thorn in this pretty bouquet of flowers. I¡¯ve not yet decided how we can deal with them. But I do have an idea.¡±

    Harald¡¯s anger quieted. ¡°You do?¡±

    ¡°Honestly, do you think I was solely focused on ferreting out the most expensive bottles of booze from that remarkably deep cabinet and nothing more? Oh no, Uncle Vic was thinking.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t call yourself Uncle Vic.¡±

    ¡°Look, Thracos gave himself away when he said he recognized your demonic corruption.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t call it demonic corruption.¡±

    Vic threw up his hands in exasperation. ¡°Your¡­ demonic¡­ patronage, then. It means he¡¯s similarly afflicted, right? And was sent by Lord Thorn because he in turn suspected your meteoric rise to be attributed to demonic influence. Which means all of House Thornvale is probably in bed with the demons, which would explain the whole House¡¯s rapid rise to power.¡±

    ¡°Yes, so?¡±

    ¡°So? We have access to someone with both a vested interest in your success as well as insider knowledge on all these matters. Vorakhar.¡±

    Harald was incredulous. ¡°You¡¯re saying we go to the demon prince with this?¡±

    ¡°Darling, of course. The Demon Seed indicates his vested interest, an interest, I¡¯m sure, he won¡¯t want squandered by your being usurped by a rival demon. After all, what are the odds that Vorakhar is behind House Thornvale? I¡¯ll do the math for you: one in six. So. We ring his bell, explain your predicament, and then see what he suggests.¡±

    Harald frowned at the puddles around them, their surfaces continuously pocked by the falling rain.

    ¡°If you don¡¯t like it, then suggest an alternative.¡± Vic shrugged. ¡°But it can¡¯t be as plebian a course of action as killing Thracos. Thracos is offensive to the senses, yes, but the problem now lies with Lord Thorn. And darling, we can¡¯t assassinate him.¡±

    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

    Harald signed. ¡°Right. Right.¡±

    ¡°So! We have ourselves a cozy chat with Vorakhar, and when I say ¡®we¡¯ I obviously mean ¡®you¡¯, and then hopefully he¡¯ll take matters in hand and go tell House Thornvale¡¯s demon to leave you well alone.¡±

    Harald nodded reluctantly.

    ¡°Cheer up! By the angels, you act as if you¡¯re not even at this very second making scales hand over fist.¡± Vic slung a sodden arm over Harald¡¯s shoulders and began leading him along the sidewalk. ¡°You¡¯ve a dinner date with Lady Celestis tomorrow night, tea with Lady Hammerfell, an invitation to tour the Emberfell Craft Hall, and I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll be hearing from House Silvershield soon enough. Lord Jin will quite possibly allow the shadow of a frown to appear on his peerless visage when he learns you quit the auction house before he could politely inform you of his interest. Thornvale¡¯s going to give you a few days to squirm, and that leaves House Veridian as the only major house to not have made a move yet. I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll hear from them soon enough.¡±

    ¡°Not if I¡¯m in the dungeon,¡± muttered Harald.

    ¡°Yes, darling, not if you¡¯re deep in the dungeon having a good pout.¡± Vic gave him a good-natured shake and released him. ¡°Listen, you have to take this seriously. Everybody¡¯s being nice to you because they¡¯re trying to make an enticing impression. But the moment they feel scorned, insulted, or rebuffed, the gloves will come off. Act like a lout, refuse to show at promised assignations, and you¡¯ll be asking for a world of trouble.¡±

    ¡°All of this makes Yeoric seem trivial.¡±

    ¡°Well, he¡¯s not. Though joining a major house will completely change the calculus on that duel. It will be a laughably easy matter to nullify once you have someone like Lady Yseult Khan acting as your second.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to avoid it. I want to crush him.¡±

    ¡°Aren¡¯t you in a spiteful mood? Yes, well, you need to be alive six weeks¡¯ from now in order to do so. And also leveled up and comfortable with your Abilities. So. Tomorrow you dine with Lady Celestis¡ª¡±

    ¡°We,¡± corrected Harald morosely. ¡°I asked to bring a companion.¡±

    ¡°Ooh, exciting.¡± Vic rubbed his hands together, then clawed his wet hair out of his face. ¡°Though I¡¯m not sure that¡¯s the right play.¡±

    Harald squinted at him through the rain. ¡°Why not?¡±

    A carriage rolled by, its huge iron-shod wheels sending up a spray and causing enough noise for them to be forced to walk in silence till it was gone.

    ¡°Because I¡¯m obviously too sophisticated, sharp, and witty to pretend to be anything but your guardian, which will diminish you in Lady Celestis¡¯ eyes. For my money, you should coerce Nessa into going.¡±

    ¡°Nessa?¡±

    ¡°Oh yes, she can be absolutely devastating at these kinds of gatherings. You know of course that she¡¯s minor nobility herself? She loathes it, but she can dance the dance when needed.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d picked up an idea, yes, but she¡¯s won¡¯t speak of her past, and I¡¯ve never heard of a House Ermarine. Do you know which family?¡±

    ¡°Not my place to say, darling, but she¡¯ll provide just the right balance to your earnest manner. Lady Celestis is endlessly cunning; you won¡¯t outwit her. But if you present instead your own bright steel and Nessa¡¯s dark glamor, I think you have a better chance of both making a good impression and getting out alive than my overt fencing.¡±

    ¡°If you say so.¡± Though it did appeal. Him and Nessa, dressing up and presenting themselves as a couple at the Celestara estate. Once that was literally the stuff of his dreams; him alighting from a carriage to extend his hand to Nessa, them a couple, together, unified in purpose and¡­ well.

    ¡°The trick will be to convince her to join you. No easy thing, given her aversion to all things nobility.¡±

    ¡°And if she refuses?¡±

    ¡°Then I¡¯ll be your fabulous companion tomorrow night, and we¡¯ll simply do our best.¡± Vic grinned. ¡°Now, are you feeling better? Can we get a carriage?¡±

    *

    Harald excused himself upon arriving at the manor. He left Vic to explain to Nessa what had taken place, and after toweling off and donning exercise clothes, descended to the gym where he lit the lanterns and stepped out into the center of the training mat.

    Extending his hand, he summoned the Dawnblade. It manifested smoothly, its green, soapstone length gleaming in the light, perfectly balanced and wickedly sharp.

    It couldn¡¯t remain his primary weapon for long. It was Common in rank, and only boosted his stats at dawn. Its unique ability was of limited utility. In fact, its primary benefit was the massively enhanced durability that all Artifacts possessed. It would resist the flames that had so warped his previous blade, wouldn¡¯t snap or dull.

    Harald took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and began to work the Dungeon Square. He moved slowly as he allowed his thoughts, his roiling emotions to settle.

    It took time.

    Back and forth he stepped, moving obliquely in time with his swings, not trying for strength or speed but simply moving his feet and arms in concert, trying to find that elusive sense of intuitive lethality.

    Posture. Footwork. The flow of the blade, the return. Over and over he drilled, and slowly his thoughts, his rage, quieted.

    Kill your masters, his father had urged. Better yet was to accept none in the first place. Vorakhar no doubt fancied himself one such, but it would be madness to accept a powerful figure such as Lady Celestis or Lord Draken as his liege.

    The more powerful his potential patron, the greater the loss of his autonomy.

    No.

    He would exert himself to the utmost to retain his freedom.

    He would be nobody¡¯s tool.

    But how?

    He swung and slashed, recovered and stepped. His shoulders began to feel warm and loose, his breathing deepened.

    Once just this exercise would have winded him.

    Once he¡¯d already have been drenched in sweat.

    Now?

    Now he felt as if he were just warming up.

    But he resisted the urge to speed up, to strike harder. Forced himself to maintain the same steady tempo.

    To lose himself in this meditative drill.

    No masters.

    But how could he rebuff these powerful lords and ladies without imperiling himself and his friends?

    Vorakhar might help him deal with Thornvale, but he¡¯d be of no utility against the other major houses.

    And Vic was right. It was childish to believe he could simply sidestep the entire issue, could turn into a Questing Hermit, simply wish it all away.

    Because this wasn¡¯t just about him. Even if he managed to disappear, his crew would draw the ire of the scorned nobility. Nessa, Vic, and Sam would make tempting targets.

    Harald grimaced.

    His solution had to protect his crew, too.

    But what?

    How did one throw off the most powerful men and women in Flutic without painting a target on his back?

    The more powerful the patron, the less control he¡¯d have.

    Vic has said they¡¯d not believe he wasn¡¯t secretly working for a rival even if he made a big show of turning everyone down.

    Harald thought of Lady Sonora and stopped swinging his blade.

    She led a small, endangered house. Had struck him as honest, direct, and as exasperated by this whole game as he was. A small fish compared to the sharks.

    Vic and Nessa already worked for her. That would resolve the strange conflict they¡¯d already written into the charter.

    She¡¯d offer him nothing in terms of wealth, favors, or Artifacts. Instead, he¡¯d shoulder her woes and rivals, and become attached to a House on the verge of collapse.

    But he¡¯d have the same freedom Vic and Nessa enjoyed now.

    ¡°Huh,¡± he said.

    And he couldn¡¯t deny his heart had gone out to her once Vic had explained her plight.

    Could that work?

    Only if he managed to deal with Thornvale first.

    And then survived Yeoric¡¯s duel right after.

    Harald dismissed the Dawnblade and jogged back upstairs.

    Nessa and Vic were seated around the kitchen table, the tiny bottle of dwarven whisky open between them. The pungent smell of spirits filled the kitchen, and both had clearly already enjoyed their first glass.

    ¡°Harald! You have to try this. It¡¯s strong enough to make Nessa grow a beard.¡±

    ¡°I think I have a plan.¡± Harald waved away the offered bottle. ¡°First, I have to deal with House Thornvale.¡±

    ¡°Outrageous,¡± said Nessa, not sounding outraged in the least. ¡°To think he just blackmailed you like that in public. I¡¯m shocked.¡±

    ¡°Which means heading to the dungeon and speaking with Vorakhar as quickly as possible. Then, assuming he gives us a solution, I must choose a patron, right? I can¡¯t just let the major houses linger.¡±

    ¡°Correct,¡± said Vic, pouring a thimbleful of gold into his glass with extreme care. ¡°Your grasp of the situation is admirable, accurate, and¡­¡±

    ¡°Astute,¡± offered Nessa.

    ¡°Astute,¡± agreed Vic.

    ¡°So, I¡¯ve decided to explore the possibility of swearing loyalty to Countess Sonora.¡±

    Vic almost spit his whisky as he sat upright, while Nessa stared at him with owlishly wide eyes.

    ¡°You¡¯ll excuse me, but I thought I heard you say you¡¯re going to spurn the major Houses for Countess Sonora?¡± Vic smiled fatuously and waved his hand. ¡°My mistake. I really should check my ears.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m serious.¡± Harald sat. ¡°You both enjoy a lot of freedom under her, in large part because she¡¯s not wealthy to control you through scales and Artifacts, right?¡±

    ¡°True,¡± said Nessa carefully. ¡°Though we made it clear from the beginning that we weren¡¯t interested in wearing her livery.¡±

    ¡°If I swear to her, she¡¯ll insulate me from the others, in large part because she enjoys House Drakenhart¡¯s protection.¡±

    ¡°You can see how that¡¯s served her thus far,¡± said Vic, slouching back. ¡°House Drakenhart only protects her as much as she benefits them.¡±

    ¡°Which is to say very little to not at all,¡± added Nessa.

    ¡°We could change that for her.¡± Harald leaned forward, excited. ¡°If we changed the fortunes of her House, then Drakenhart would take notice and offer more protection. It would insulate me against the other lords and ladies, and also allow me to help someone who actually deserves protection.¡±

    Nessa turned to Vic. ¡°It¡¯s the freckles. I told you he¡¯d fall for her.¡±

    ¡°She played him well.¡± Vic gazed into his tiny glass. ¡°Wasn¡¯t it me that taught her the principle of ¡®we pursue that which retreats from us¡¯? And retreat she did. You should have seen it, Nessa, she did a masterful job. She told Harry to his face she¡¯d not try to recruit him, stared mournfully into the distance, then walked away, a figure of pure tragedy.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d be using her as much as she¡¯d use me,¡± said Harald in annoyance.

    ¡°Doubtful,¡± said Vic.

    ¡°If I swear to her, I get everyone off my back, I get to help someone I wouldn¡¯t mind assisting, it resolves that conflict in your loyalties to her and our new crew, and I get to keep as much freedom as I can hope to have under these circumstances.¡± Harald looked sharply from one to the other. ¡°Am I right?¡±

    ¡°Well.¡± Vic frowned. ¡°I hate to concede that you¡¯ve gotten anything right on principle, but¡­¡±

    ¡°Harald.¡± Nessa¡¯s tone turned serious. ¡°You¡¯re only correct insofar as you¡¯re giving up rapid advancement, powerful protection, and access to incredible resources that the major Houses have. You¡¯re effectively claiming that choosing to ride a pony against racehorses is the best play.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t want their scales or protection. I¡¯m going to rise to power without them. I just want nobody to get in my way or to waste my time.¡±

    ¡°She will ask things of you,¡± said Vic mildly. ¡°She may seem a helpless maiden in need, but she¡¯s anything but. She¡¯ll seek to use you as much as she possibly can.¡±

    ¡°Which will still be a sight less than Lady Celestis or Lord Draken himself.¡±

    ¡°Well.¡± Vic considered. ¡°True, I suppose.¡±

    ¡°The first step is to confer with Vorakhar. This is all futile if I can¡¯t get Thornvale off my back. I mean to enter the dungeon tomorrow morning.¡±

    ¡°You have dinner with Lady Celestis tomorrow night,¡± said Vic mildly. ¡°Oh, incidentally, Nessa: do you have plans tomorrow evening?¡±

    Nessa¡¯s gray eyes flashed. ¡°Nothing that involves visiting Lady Celestis.¡±

    ¡°Perish the thought!¡± Vic grinned. ¡°Let me just refill your glass. We can discuss that shortly. But first: a toast to Harald Darrowdelve, the most confounding of lads, and future knight of the redoubtable Countess Sonora.¡±

    ¡°To getting more benefit from Vorakhar than pain,¡± countered Nessa, raising her glass.

    Harald accepted the tiny glass that Vic had filled for him simply so he could make the toast. ¡°To our crew. To our rise to power. To damning everyone to hell who tries to get in our way.¡±

    ¡°Hear, hear,¡± said Vic, and the three of them clinked their glasses together and drank.

    (Chapter 50! That''s some kind of milestone, right? Thanks everyone for coming along for the ride. I hope you''re enjoying the tale!)

 Chapter 51

    Matters financial kept Harald from delving into the dungeon as swiftly as he desired when dawn broke upon Flutic.

    Returning from his run, he saw Master Ling and a handful of assistants at his front door conversing with a bleary-eyed Vic. The members of the Platinum Rose were dressed in elegant finery, with Master Ling having donned a set of black silk robes masterfully embroidered with a silver rose across his back. As Harald strode up the driveway, they turned as one to regard him.

    ¡°Ah! Flutic¡¯s favorite son, the cause of such admirable economic intercourse, and the prized customer of the Platinum Rose auction house himself: Master Darrowdelve.¡±

    ¡°Master Ling. I presume I brought a good amount of business to the Platinum Rose?¡±

    ¡°Most assuredly. I¡¯ve come to regale you with the details.¡±

    ¡°Then please, do come in. I¡¯ll just be a moment.¡±

    Half a bell later Harald joined Master Ling in the first parlor, where Vic had gone so far as to serve tea and stale biscuits. Freshly washed and wearing a plain outfit of dove gray, Harald took a cup from Vic with a smile and sat across from the auction master.

    ¡°Dear Master Darrowdelve, you caused quite the stir when it was discovered you had departed unannounced.¡± Master Ling actually winked. ¡°Several important bidders were quite put out at not being able to congratulate you personally. It took all my efforts to placate them, but still, they left disappointed.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry to have put you in a difficult position,¡± said Harald mildly. ¡°But the sums of scales being offered for my meager possessions were quite overwhelming. I became emotional, and Master Carmine advised that I take in some air.¡±

    ¡°Of course, of course, most understandable. The results of the auction far exceeded even my heightened expectations. I can only say that it warms my heart to see that Flutic yet recognizes quality, and turned out its best for your estate sale. You will be most gratified by the outcome, and I have brought with me annotated lists of each offer.¡±

    ¡°You are most kind.¡± Harald felt strangely detached; that some large sum of scales was about to be presented to him almost felt like an item of academic interest.

    ¡°Yes.¡± Master Ling blinked, clearly having expected greater excitement, then snapped his fingers. One of his assistants approached and extended a scroll with a bow.

    Harald took it, broke the seal, and unscrolled it smoothly as Vic leaned over his shoulder.

    It was a lengthy list, but he simply read the final lines where all the sums were tallied:

    ¡ñ       9 Golden Dawns

    ¡ñ       4 Aurora Veils

    ¡ñ       6 Zenith Tides

    ¡ñ       3 Horizon¡¯s Whispers

    Harald was forced to incline his head as wonder pierced his detachment; his family possessions had fetched 364,900 scales, almost four times as much as Sam¡¯s initial estimate. It was a ludicrous sum, far in excess of what his shabby belongings should have fetched, and the message was clear.

    The Houses of Flutic were not being shy in expressing their avaricious hunger.

    ¡°Now,¡± said Master Ling, ¡°let us begin at the beginning, and proceed till we reach the end, at which point we shall stop. I wish to explain the commissions deducted by my humble business, as well as note which bid went to which buyer¡ª¡±

    ¡°Master Ling.¡± Harald handed the scroll to Vic, who set to reading it closely. ¡°I¡¯m afraid I must do you the disservice of postponing that conversation. I have absolute trust in the honesty of your auction house, and while I intend to resume this in-depth analysis as soon as possible, I unfortunately have commitments this morning that prevent me from doing this matter the justice it deserves.¡±

    Master Ling was masterful at hiding his emotions; he simply inclined his head graciously and waved off the assistants who¡¯d been on the verge of opening a number of books. ¡°But of course, Master Darrowdelve, but it is I that must tender an apology. I shortsightedly assumed that you would be so gratified by such a successful transaction that you¡¯d welcome my unexpected arrival. Shall we instead set a date for a more in depth review?¡±

    ¡°Would that I could set matters of honor aside and show you the respect and gratitude you deserve,¡± said Harald. ¡°But yes. As you can no doubt guess, my schedule has become¡­ complicated, shall we say, by the recent interest the grandees of Flutic have shown in my humble situation. May I send a suggestion for when we may meet at leisure to your offices at a later date?¡±

    ¡°Assuredly.¡± Master Ling gestured to a final assistant who¡¯d been standing at the back. This man was powerfully built, his expression sanguine, his movements lithe and subtly lethal. A blocky backpack of rare quality hung from his broad shoulders, and this he swung about as he knelt by Master Ling, opened, and drew forth a small iron chest.

    Master Ling inserted a slender key that he drew from within his black robes, and with a click unlocked the chest. Within was an green pouch, and this he set on the table before Harald. ¡°Your proceeds from the sale, Master Darrowdelve.¡±

    Harald inclined his head, making no move to count the scales. ¡°It has truly been a privilege to work with the Platinum Rose.¡±

    ¡°The honor has been ours.¡± Master Ling rose. His assistants gathered their belongings and assembled behind him. ¡°I shall leave a scroll listing the interested parties behind the most salient bids for you to peruse at your leisure. Suffice to say that some of them would take great offense if their generosity were not acknowledged in a timely manner.¡±

    Harald inclined his head once more.

    ¡°Well then!¡± Master Ling beamed. ¡°I have truly appreciated the opportunity to serve your interests. I hope you think of the Platinum Rose if any future opportunities present themselves?¡±

    ¡°You can rest assured,¡± said Harald.

    Vic saw the party out, and then returned just as Harald poured the scales into his palm. They gleamed in his hand, shimmering and refulgent, enough wealth to encompass what a successful raider might harvest from the dungeons over the course of their entire career.

    ¡°A pretty sight,¡± said Vic, moving to sit across from him. ¡°And my compliments, incidentally, in how you handled Master Ling. I believe he thought he¡¯d be here all day.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve no interest in the details, not when they can be so easily verified.¡± Harald checked that the three Horizon¡¯s Whispers were present, then poured the scales back into the pouch. ¡°Including the Infinitum, I¡¯m now in possession of 1,364,900 scales.¡±

    ¡°A princely sum. Enough to awaken your Second and Third Thrones in one fell swoop.¡±

    ¡°Hmm.¡± Harald bounced the pouch in his palm. ¡°The Infinitum minus one Horizon Dawn plus Lady Sonora¡¯s interest is already claimed by our charter.¡±

    Vic¡¯s expression was sly. ¡°You¡¯ve got options. You could increase the fund to everyone¡¯s benefit. You could use those scales to secure yourself a new home of quality, seeing as we¡¯ll soon be evicted from Darrowdelve Manor. Or you could just gobble it all up like an avaricious monster and feed every scale into your quest for power.¡±

    ¡°Including my sign-up bonus from the charter, that¡¯ll get me over halfway to my third Throne.¡± Harald bounced the pouch again. ¡°But then again, having a place to sleep at night wouldn¡¯t go awry, either.¡±

    ¡°The home base of our illustrious crew should reflect our glory and rarefied caliber,¡± agreed Vic. ¡°After spending so much time in your manor, I fear I can¡¯t downgrade to a regular house. May I suggest a small manse off Seraphic Park that I scouted out? You could rent it for a meager five Aurora Veils a month.¡±

    Harald leveled a flat stare at his friend.

    ¡°No? Too much? Ah well, you can¡¯t blame a fellow for trying.¡±

    A hesitant knock sounded on the front door, and then Sam¡¯s voice called as she opened it. ¡°Hello? Anyone home?¡±

    ¡°In here!¡± called Harald, and a moment later Sam appeared. She wore her full adventuring gear, her armor beautifully repaired, with a pack over her shoulder and a new longsword at her hip. ¡°Looks like you¡¯re ready for business.¡±

    She smiled apologetically. ¡°I¡¯m starting to appreciate the impracticalities of living apart from you all. It¡¯s hard to keep track of what¡¯s going on. I was going to suggest we create a schedule, so that I know when to show up and for what.¡±

    ¡°Your instincts have served you well,¡± drawled Vic. ¡°Much has happened since we saw you last, and all of it exciting. But to answer your implicit question: yes, Harald intends to contact Vorakhar again this morning, which does indeed require a new delve of us all.¡±

    Sam¡¯s eyed widened in shock. ¡°Harald?¡±

    ¡°Take a seat.¡± Harald gestured to a chair. ¡°I¡¯ll catch you up on what you¡¯ve missed.¡±

    Nessa appeared halfway through his recounting, a cup of coffee clutched in her hands, the pungent smell enlivening. She looked half-asleep still, and waved off Harald¡¯s curious look as she sought refuge in a distant armchair.

    When he was done explaining, Sam simply shook her head in wonder. ¡°Your estate sale fetched almost five Horizon¡¯s? And House Thornvale knows of the Demon Seed? And tonight you¡¯re dining with Lady Celestis¡­?¡± She laughed and abruptly covered her mouth. ¡°Harald. This is all happening too fast.¡±

    Vic stretched out contentedly. ¡°It¡¯s what happens when you go from being a no-account layabout to the darling of the Gazette overnight. You in, darling?¡±

    ¡°Of course.¡± Sam gave a firm nod. ¡°You didn¡¯t have to ask.¡±

    ¡°Then you need to sign the charter, we need to get our writ, and get below ground,¡± said Harald firmly. ¡°Here¡¯s the paperwork.¡±

    While Sam read through the charter, Vic and Harald fetched their own mugs of coffee, and returned to Sam carefully penning her signature to the bottom of the last sheet.

    ¡°There,¡± she said, and her eyes gleamed as she looked up at them both. ¡°The crew is now officially complete.¡±

    ¡°And that means we each get our signing bonus,¡± said Harald. ¡°A Horizon¡¯s Whisper each, plus access to the Artifacts my father left me.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re mad,¡± said Nessa from her corner. ¡°Handing over so much wealth to a crew you¡¯ve got no control over.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± smiled Harald. ¡°Consider it a wager.¡±

    Nessa glowered at him over her mug. ¡°And what, pray tell, are you betting?¡±

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    ¡°That the blessings of love and friendship will more than compensate for -¡±

    Nessa snorted and looked away.

    Harald¡¯s smile became a grin. ¡°Regardless. Let¡¯s suit up, head down to the Mining Consortium¡¯s offices, register our charter, secure our writ, and get into the dungeon.¡±

    ¡°Hold your stallions, Harry,¡± said Vic.

    ¡°It¡¯s ¡®horses¡¯,¡± muttered Sam.

    ¡°Stallions are more in line with my essence,¡± said Vic sweetly. ¡°We need to distribute the Artifacts. Now, I¡¯ve given it some thought, and suggest the following: I should claim The Point, as I have the greatest skill in aiming a rapier-like weapon. Sam should take the Thornguard, as she¡¯s already leaning into being the defensive member of our group, while Nessa should take the Phaseblades, as she¡¯s in possession of the greatest battle acumen and can best decide when to use them. Harald, as much as it pains me to say, you should have the Goldchop.¡±

    Harald glanced at the two ladies. Sam didn¡¯t seem overly excited, but neither were actively protesting.

    ¡°I won¡¯t say no to the Masterwork Artifact,¡± Harald said tentatively. ¡°But I¡¯ll have to save it till I Ascend to my second Throne.

    Sam frowned. ¡°Doubling up on shields seems excessive to me.¡±

    ¡°Then we should consider selling it,¡± said Vic. ¡°And use the proceeds to buy you something more in keeping with your style. Until then, however? Take the Artifact with a smile, darling.¡±

    ¡°Well.¡± Nessa finished her coffee and set it aside. ¡°The way our fortunes are changing, I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if all of us soon Ascend to their third Throne, at which point this will all be moot.¡±

    ¡°True.¡± Vic shrugged. ¡°A problem for another day. Shall we meet in the entrance hall in ten minutes?¡±

    Harald rose, excitement thrumming through his veins, and headed upstairs to don his raiding gear. His leather armor was in poor condition, but it would have to serve; he¡¯d neglected to have it fixed in all the commotion and activity. Then he descended to the gym, activated Gustav with an empowered attack, and brought up the Infinitum and the four Artifacts.

    All the while he considered the funds he¡¯d made from the Platinum Rose auction.

    He didn¡¯t want another manor, or even an elegant home. He didn¡¯t need anything fancy or superlative. What he wanted was power. To determine his own fate.

    Toward that end, he needed to Ascend to his second Throne.

    Sam stood in the hallway, her pack leaning against one leg, looking uneasy. She smiled as he entered, the expression not reaching her eyes.

    ¡°You doing all right, Sam?¡±

    ¡°I¡­ don¡¯t know. Yes? Probably?¡± Her smile was half frustrated, half helpless. ¡°It feels so strange to stand here like a guest.¡±

    ¡°You know you¡¯re not.¡±

    ¡°I want to be.¡±

    ¡°Fair enough.¡± Harald inclined his head. ¡°How is everything else working out?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ strange, and wonderful, and terrifying, and¡­¡± She again tried for a smile. ¡°I¡¯ve been securing furniture for my new apartment. I never thought I¡¯d be so thrilled at decorating my own space. It has this most amazing window, round like the moon and big as a carriage. I just sit at its base all evening and watch the city grow dark. And I had a little more work done on my tattoo. I¡¯ve eaten out a couple of times, treated myself to a fine dinner last night at the Glazed Pheasant, and it was¡­.¡±

    ¡°Strange?¡±

    She smiled in defeat. ¡°I¡¯ve spent most my life eating alone in the kitchen here, but to eat alone at a patio table, surrounded by fancy folk, and just¡­ have food and wine brought to me? I spent half the time wanting to run away, the other feeling like I was in a dream.¡± She shook her head. ¡°But while I¡¯ve been wrestling with all that, you¡¯ve been¡­ I don¡¯t even know how to describe it.¡±

    ¡°Busy, I guess.¡± He gave her a crooked smile.

    ¡°You sure about searching out Vorakhar?¡± Her tone turned grave. ¡°He¡¯s no casual resource, Harald. We can¡¯t grow accustomed to seeking his advice.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t see any other way. If you do, I¡¯m all ears.¡±

    She grimaced but shook her head.

    Harald hefted the Goldchop. It had a pleasing weight to it, and was beautifully crafted. The edge of its blade was keen, and Harald angled it back and forth so that the gold glimmered. Gold was a terrible metal for weapons, but this was an Artifact. He has to assume it would keep its edge. But he couldn¡¯t claim it yet, so instead he stashed it inside his pack where it wouldn¡¯t draw any notice.

    ¡°Here you go,¡± he said, extending the Point and the Phaseblades Vic and Nessa as they entered the hall. ¡°Courtesy of the Unnamed Crew.¡±

    ¡°And our sign-up bonus?¡± asked Nessa, taking the three daggers.

    ¡°Cold.¡± Vic examined his Artifact. ¡°Look how quickly she grows accustomed to unearthly wealth and privilege.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll visit the scale changer at the Mining Consortium,¡± said Harald. ¡°They¡¯ll break the Infinitum for us.¡±

    ¡°For a fee,¡± added Vic, and pointed the Point down the hall. A moment later it exploded in length, faster even than a lunge, and extended a good five yards before retracting just as quickly.

    Vic grinned, delighted. ¡°Now this I could grow used to.¡±

    Nessa shook her head pityingly. ¡°It won¡¯t compensate for that singular deficiency, darling. It will only highlight your lack.¡±

    ¡°Nonsense.¡± Vic made a few slashes and then extended the Point again, aiming it carefully down the hall. When it retracted, he turned and grinned at her. ¡°I finally have a weapon worthy of my natural endowments.¡±

    ¡°The angels save us,¡± sighed Nessa, rubbing at her brow. ¡°Men.¡±

    ¡°Ready?¡± Harald opened the front door. ¡°Let¡¯s try and get the bureaucracy over as quickly as possible.¡±

    ¡°I was about to say ¡®lead on, dear leader¡¯,¡± said Vic, ¡°but that would be Sam, wouldn¡¯t it? At least, above ground?¡±

    Sam flushed. ¡°That¡¯s purely a nominal title. I¡¯m only in charge of the funding and inventory for the crew¡ª¡±

    ¡°Too true,¡± said Nessa.

    ¡°Nonsense!¡± Vic beamed at her. ¡°Nessa is the Delve Captain, and you are the Crew Leader! Am I right, Harald?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s right.¡±

    Sam glowered at them both. ¡°Formalities.¡±

    ¡°Formalities are all that separate us from the beasts,¡± said Vic, raising a finger. ¡°So, Sam? Lead on.¡±

    She swung her pack over one shoulder, glared at Vic, and then stomped out the front door.

    ¡°Ah,¡± sighed Vic. ¡°We¡¯re off to a rousing start.¡±

    *

    In order to avoid Ustim, they had Sam and Vic enter the Mining Consortium¡¯s offices off the Dungeon Plaza to register the charter, acquire the writ, and break down the Infinitum scale.

    Harald accompanied Nessa as they got a room in one of the inns that faced the plaza, a cheap room with two beds and a stout lock on the wooden door. It cost them a Silver Starburst per hour, with one paid upfront. They sat in the sun that splashed down upon a window seat that looked out over the Dungeon Portal, and there Nessa relaxed, back against the wall, legs stretched out before her.

    Harald sat on the seat¡¯s far end and gazed out at the milling crowds below. ¡°Which level, do you think?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s right. I¡¯m the Delve Captain.¡± Nessa smirked and leaned her head back to catch the morning sun. ¡°Hmm. No sense in repeating the 4th. But we should definitely stick with the Iron Levels.¡±

    ¡°You sure? We¡¯re carrying some serious Artifacts now.¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s not make the classic mistake of over-relying on tools. Once you descend beyond the 12th, you¡¯re facing intelligent foes for the first time. Best to keep things simple and keep you alive.¡±

    Harald fought to keep himself from frowning.

    ¡°Aw,¡± teased Nessa. ¡°Looking to run before you can crawl?¡±

    ¡°I think we¡¯re past crawling.¡±

    ¡°No, you¡¯re not.¡± She closed her eyes. ¡°You¡¯re barely past the Dungeon Square. And your patron can find us on any level, correct?¡±

    ¡°Correct.¡±

    ¡°So¡­ let¡¯s try for the 10th. That should provide enough of a challenge without being overwhelming.¡±

    ¡°The 10th.¡± Harald tried to recall the details. ¡°That¡¯s where¡­ isn¡¯t that the one overrun with Crypt Keepers?¡±

    ¡°Once, assuredly. Today? They¡¯ve been massacred by centuries of exploitation, courtesy of Flutic¡¯s finest.¡± Nessa smiled wryly, and Harald did his best not to openly admire just how beautiful she looked. ¡°Just like all the other Iron Levels, the 10th isn¡¯t what is used to be. But yes. Crypt Keepers.¡±

    ¡°And they¡¯re not intelligent?¡±

    ¡°Hardly. They¡¯ll come swarming like roaches. The standard tactic is to find high ground and cut them down as they come. Or a choke point, if you¡¯re uncertain of your abilities.¡±

    ¡°So we¡¯re taking the high ground. Wait. What does that even mean, in a dungeon? High ground?¡±

    She cracked open an eye. ¡°You¡¯ll see. The real question is: will your patron bother to drop by?¡±

    Harald tongued the inside of his cheek. ¡°I don¡¯t know. I hope so. I¡¯m going to try and call out to him. He should be attuned to me.¡±

    Nessa considered, shrugged one shoulder, then closed her eye once more.

    Harald spent his time watching the Humble Petitioner¡¯s line crawl by below, watched as different crews approached the main gates and presented their writs. A large team from House Emberfell took the Silver Gate, clad all in fiery orange and slate blues. Anita wasn¡¯t amongst their number. A small delegation three-strong from House Celestara in royal blue and gold took the Silver some ten minutes later. Then came a crew that caused Harald to nudge Nessa.

    She cracked open an eye, saw what was going on, and sat up with a jolt.

    It was a royal dwarven team from Dumr?n itself. Their arrival caused a stir; everyone in the huge plaza turned to regard them as they approached with their heavy tread. Some fifty dwarves marched in, war banners raised on the flanks, though clearly less than half their number was heading below; these wore the legendary stone full-plate armor of the Forge Fathers, inscribed with deep geometric patterns of burning gold, their heavy helms carried by attendants so that their weathered, craggy features were exposed. Half were bald, but all were white bearded.

    Their leader was a dwarf as broad as he was tall, his stone plate crafted from jet black stone, the warhammer resting over his huge shoulder looking heavy enough to give even Lady Hammerfell pause. A simple circlet of iron rested around his brow, and his features were grave and ferocious, his stare locked straight ahead.

    ¡°By the angels,¡± whispered Nessa, rising to her knees to lean out the window. ¡°A Deathforge Legion. Haven¡¯t heard of one of those making a play at the dungeon in decades.¡±

    Flutic officials from the Mining Consortium and the Seraphic Church walked alongside the lead dwarf with all the gravity and self-importance they could muster.

    ¡°A Deathforge Legion.¡± Harald drank in the spectacle. Each member of the legion was noteworthy, looking cut from dwarven legend.

    ¡°That¡¯s an Anvil King at their head,¡± agreed Nessa, for once as impressed as Harald. ¡°I don¡¯t recognize which one, though. They¡¯ll have come direct from Dumr?n. Incredible.¡±

    They watched the spectacle unfold with rapt attention along with everyone else. The Anvil King marched without hesitation up to the Diamond Gate, where a bevy of officials had appeared in anxious anticipation.

    ¡°Diamond,¡± breathed Harald. ¡°How long since that gate¡¯s been used?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t even remember,¡± said Nessa. ¡°Vic¡¯s going to die when he realizes he missed this.¡±

    ¡°And Sam.¡± Harald felt a pang of sympathy. ¡°Damn it, she¡¯d kill to see this.¡±

    What followed was a series of brief ceremonies, with the Flutic officials blessing the expedition or at the very least giving their permission. The dwarves seemed indifferent to the local politics; one of their member intoned a prayer and manifested an anvil as large as a boulder; upon this he leaped with sprightly energy despite his obvious centuries¡¯ worth of age, and from the top of this huge Artifact blessed the company in the stern language of the dwarves.

    All but the Anvil King bent knee.

    When the blessing was complete, a blue burning aura appeared around each dwarf, and their eyes blazed like stars.

    ¡°Oh damn,¡± whispered Harald, leaning forward so far his stomach pressed against the sill. ¡°What even is that?¡±

    ¡°Dwarven magic,¡± whispered Nessa back. ¡°Earthblood being channeled through their Artifact.¡±

    The Anvil King raised his huge warhammer, its head as large as a wagon wheel, barked out a command that rang across the huge plaza, then strode past the human officials, past the accountants and gate guards, to mount the Diamond stage.

    The huge anvil disappeared as quickly as it had been summoned.

    The Diamond Stage was built of gorgeous white marble, its railing carved and elegant, its breadth sufficient to house a company fifty strong. The twenty dwarves of the elite Deathforge Legion gathered before the spinning polyhedron, blazing and burning, and watched as their Anvil King raised a glittering scale.

    ¡°That¡¯s got to be an Infinitum,¡± whispered Nessa. ¡°Or maybe even a Nightshard.¡±

    The thought boggled Harald¡¯s mind. If it were a Nightshard, then the dwarves were planning to descend to the 72nd or 76th Level of the dungeon. Madness.

    The polyhedron shifted its frantic rotations, oriented on the Anvil King, and then a triangular face seemed to widen even as its center hollowed out. The dwarf shouted out a final cry, then took off at a run, charging up through the air and into the portal, followed without hesitation by the rest of his Legion.

    A moment later they were gone.

    The portal resumed spinning and vibrating.

    The entire plaza seemed to sigh. The dwarven attendants began marching away, a handful of their number moving to take up stations to one side, clearly ready to wait till the return of the Legion with large packs at the ready.

    The Mining officials and priests departed, the Diamond Gate officials thinned in number, and ten minutes later it was as if nothing untoward had taken place.

    ¡°Wow,¡± whispered Harald, leaning back and shaking his head. ¡°Incredible.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Vic opened the door with a flourish, a brand new scroll in one fist, his smile cocksure. ¡°Did you see a lady of particularly generous assets?¡±

    Sam thwapped his shoulder as she crowded into the room from behind.

    Nessa and Harald exchanged a glance and reached a wordless agreement.

    ¡°Oh, nothing.¡± Harald stood. ¡°Any problems?¡±

    Sam beamed. ¡°All settled. The charter has been notarized, duplicated, and filed, and we¡¯ve acquired a Copper Gate writ for a Golden Dawn. We also broke the Infinitum, though it cost us three Zenith Tides.¡±

    ¡°Painful,¡± agreed Vic. ¡°But despite my heroic efforts, I wasn¡¯t able to negotiate it below a 3% fee.¡±

    ¡°That means we can each receive our signing bonus,¡± said Sam, and she tossed a small drawstring pouch to Nessa and Harald. ¡°Your Horizon¡¯s Whisper.¡±

    ¡°Excellent.¡± Nessa¡¯s eyes gleamed. ¡°I¡¯m going to get right to it.¡±

    ¡°Should we lie down and hold hands as we Ascend?¡± asked Vic with a laugh. ¡°Make it a true crew experience?¡±

    Nessa didn¡¯t bother to respond. She lay upon one of the narrow beds, took out the whisper-thin scale and held it up so that the morning light reflected off it and across the wall in a prismatic spray.

    ¡°Other bed¡¯s yours,¡± said Harald to Sam, bowing low. ¡°I¡¯ll take the window seat.¡±

    ¡°And me?¡± Vic turned about in dismay. ¡°All that¡¯s left is the chamber pot.¡±

    Nessa snorted on the bed as she cupped the scale in her palms and closed her eyes.

    ¡°To think I¡¯d Ascend in such utter squalor.¡± Vic sighed, sat, and then lay out on the rough boards. ¡°What a cruel jest.¡±

    Harald took out the emerald pouch Master Ling had gifted him. He plucked out the nine Golden Dawns to keep as spending cash, and poured the rest into his hands.

    With his sign-up bonus, that came out to a value of 464,000 scales.

    Enough to blast him right past his second Throne and halfway to his third.

    Harald fought for calm. His heart was racing.

    If Flutic had been impressed by his accomplishments so far, then they had no idea as to what he was going to achieve next.

    Elated, frightened, but most of all ruthlessly determined, Harald absorbed the small fortune of scales into his Cosmos, and Ascended.

 Chapter 52

    Harald dove down into his core, into that eternal ocean in which lay his personal Fallen Angel. As before, he felt himself a wisp before the grandeur of the heavens, but now he came charged with uncommon power, and in his wake flashed golden stars of his own creation.

    Awash with the power of his scales, he descended into the mysterious source of his power, and there saw the Fallen Angel appear before him, recumbent and dead, lit by the billion pinpricks of her remaining scales, her Throne of Harmony Ascended and glimmering in her palms.

    As always, he couldn¡¯t help but still and ponder the miracle of her being within his being. Of her presence, brought to life when his father had first gifted him the scales to awaken his own Cosmos.

    But his newfound power brought its own sense of urgency. Harald extended his palms toward the heavenly corpse and channeled the might of his newly absorbed scales into her being. Glimmering light flowed from his spirit like a rippling torrent of wonder, down into the constellations of scales.

    The Fallen Angel awoke before the influx of divine might. She stirred, her vast armature flexing, her face raising to the invisible skies, and her wings beat slowly, seeking to tear her free of the earthly firmament in which she was trapped.

    The Throne of Harmony ensconced within her palms burned bright, each a perfect garden, but the power he poured into her overflowed and ran into the Throne of Shadows, those hidden nexuses of power hidden within the great scaled feathers of her wings.

    The twinned Throne of Shadows flared bright, and Harald felt them Ascend. It was as if his chest had unhitched after taking a blow to the sternum, allowing him at long last to breathe.

    The Fallen Angel¡¯s wings beat once more, stilled, and her face turned away from the skies to gaze in sorrow at the depths once more.

    Both Thrones remained vibrant, however; where the first was visible as gardens in her palms, the Throne of Shadows was itself a twilight glow that sheathed her wings, a permanent eclipse that hid as much as it revealed.

    Harald¡¯s mind wrestled with the divine revelation, and was insufficient to the task. Why was the Throne of Harmony represented as tangible gardens, while the Throne of Shadows were, even when Ascended, little more than a penumbra that he could now distinctly discern?

    Regardless, they were now his; conduits to the Fallen Angel¡¯s power, doubling the might of his Abilities.

    For a moment longer he admired the vast and adumbrate form, and then he raised his own face to the heavens and willed himself to climb, to return to his body, to leave this mysterious miracle in the depths of his soul.

    Harald opened his eyes.

    He was back in the modest inn, the old rafters overhead, his friends stirring around him.

    But within him. A new sense of potential. It was at once intangible yet focused, a sense that he could accomplish so much more now with Abyssal Attunement and Aura of the Aching Depths.

    He couldn¡¯t restrain himself. He summoned his window, and gazed upon his statistics.

    Thrones: 2/7 (Throne of Harmony, Throne of Shadows)

    Scales: 475,024/1,000,000

    Harald couldn¡¯t help but grin, and then looked up to take in his companions.

    Sam had sat up, her eyes wide, staring at her palms in wonder. Nessa lay back, her hand clapped to her brow.

    ¡°Incredible.¡± Vic leaped to his feet, eyes burning bright. ¡°To think I¡¯ve gone all these years without chasing down my second Throne. What a waste!¡±

    ¡°Can you keep it down?¡± asked Nessa, voice wretched.

    Harald rose unsteadily. ¡°You all right?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m fine.¡± Eyes still clenched, she scowled. ¡°I¡¯m fine. Just leave me alone and keep it down for a moment.¡±

    Harald glanced at Vic, who shrugged.

    Sam wiped at her eyes. ¡°So beautiful. So beautiful. I¡¯d never imagined it would be like that.¡±

    Harald stepped over to sit beside her and slung an arm around her shoulders. She leaned against him for a moment, breathing deeply, and then looked up to meet his gaze. ¡°Everything I¡¯ve ever heard, all the sermons, the words of the Seraphites, none of it does her justice.¡± Tears brimmed in her eyes once more. ¡°It¡¯s so¡­ so sad. How can she be dead, yet stir like that? How can we eat her for power as if she were an animal?¡±

    Harald had no answers.

    Sam rubbed the tears away angrily.

    ¡°Pah.¡± Nessa sat up abruptly and swung her legs over the side of the bed. ¡°Enough of this nonsense. Let¡¯s get to killing.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s your reaction?¡± Sam stared at her. ¡°Anger?¡±

    Nessa picked up her pack. ¡°It¡¯s all beyond us, yes? So why waste our time trying to divine the truth? Ignore it, move on, keeping fighting, keep killing. Anything else is stupidity.¡±

    Sam wouldn¡¯t let it go. ¡°But you felt¡­ nothing?¡±

    Nessa buckled her blade to her hips, hands moving quickly, but then stilled, staring at the ground. ¡°Yeah. You¡¯ve got it right. I felt nothing.¡±

    ¡°Well.¡± Vic hefted his own pack. ¡°I think we all know who needed more hugs as a child.¡±

    Nessa slowly raised her face to glare at Vic with such lethality that Harald rose, unsure if he¡¯d have to intervene, though the Fallen Angel knew what he¡¯d be able to do.

    ¡°What?¡± Vic affected nonchalant surprise. ¡°Oh, very well. I¡¯ll leave well enough alone. Are we ready to test our new capacities? Which level did we determine?¡±

    ¡°The 10th,¡± snapped Nessa. ¡°I¡¯ll meet you all downstairs. Hurry up.¡±

    Then she yanked open the door and was gone.

    Vic sighed.

    ¡°What was that about?¡± asked Harald.

    ¡°What it be trite for me to observe that women are complex creatures?¡±

    Sam stared at him.

    ¡°What?¡± Vic spread his hands. ¡°It¡¯s true. Far more complex than we brutish men, who desire nothing more than to be mothered by gorgeous women we at once wish to conquer and be conquered by. Women on the other hand?¡± He let out a low whistle.

    ¡°For once I am in agreement with Nessa,¡± said Sam, rising from the bed. ¡°The sooner we get below and stop Vic from talking, the better.¡±

    ¡°Some day soon I¡¯ll explain why I think women are like cats,¡± said Vic cheerfully. ¡°Feline beauties who¡ª¡±

    Sam strode out the door, slinging her pack over one shoulder as she went.

    Harald studied his friend¡¯s feigned surprise. ¡°You know, you don¡¯t have to cover for Nessa¡¯s problems by drawing attention away from her all the time.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t I, darling?¡± Vic patted Harald¡¯s cheek gently and stepped up to the door. ¡°Whatever else would I do with my time?¡±

    Harald wanted to follow, but instead knelt and dug the Goldchop. The heavy, gorgeous hand-ax gleamed in the sunlight. Harald took a deep breath, tried to slow his racing pulse, then claimed the fantastical weapon.

    A new message appeared before him:

    Artifact Acquired: Goldchop

    Quality: Masterwork

    Special Ability: Dancing Partner

    Activation: Upon command, the Goldchop will animate and hover about its wielder, attacking any foe that comes within its reach. The Goldchop will duplicate itself as many times as the wielder has Ascended Thrones.

    +2 to Dexterity while wielded

    +2 to Strength while wielded

    Limitation: The lethality of the Goldchop corresponds to the number of Ascended Thrones.

    Harald felt a shiver of awe and delight as the Goldchop melded with his Cosmos. He willed it to disappear, and watched as it faded quickly from his grasp.

    A Masterwork Artifact. To think that he had acquired an item worth 1,000,000 scales. It beggared the mind.

    And for the first time, Harald considered what it meant for his father to have left him that Twilight Infinitum and a Masterwork Artifact. That was a fifth of his entire wealth. All placed in the vault in the hopes that one day Harald would be able to inherit that power.

    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

    Contingent, of course, on his acquiring a Demon Seed.

    Harald shook his head then hurried after the others. They paid the balance to the inn keeper and emerged into the midday sunlight just as the Twelfth Bell began to ring. The Humble Petitioner¡¯s line wrapped around the plaza, but there was currently nobody in line before the main gates.

    Nessa strode out in front, Sam a dozen paces behind, while Vic and Harald brought up the rear. They didn¡¯t seem nor feel like a tight-knit group, Harald reflected ruefully. What had happened to Nessa? Why had her mood soured so?

    There was precious little chance of finding out any time soon.

    They gathered before the Copper Gate and were processed just like the last time. Their information was collected, scales registered, and ingoing scale count in their windows marked down. Together they climbed to the Copper platform, where they drew forth their scale-lanterns and listened to the guard¡¯s terse instructions.

    ¡°10th Level, hey?¡± The guard, a bulldog of a man with a crimson eyepatch, roused himself when Nessa stated their intended floor. ¡°Want me to keep the count?¡±

    ¡°Sure,¡± said Nessa. ¡°Though we¡¯re not going to be there long. We¡¯ve two greenhorns with us.¡±

    ¡°Ah, then I¡¯ll expect you back shortly,¡± agreed the guard, his interest dying back down.

    Harald couldn¡¯t help but glance sidelong at the distant Diamond Platform. Would he one day stand there as the Deathforge Legion had done, and summon a portal to take him down to the very depths of the dungeon?

    He couldn¡¯t believe it.

    Nessa raised ten Copper Moons, signaling to the portal that they wished to be transported to the 10th Level, and the huge polyhedron responded as ever. It whirled, spun, then abruptly froze in place, an iron pentagon facing them with ten gold notches marked across one side.

    Not needing to be urged, Nessa raised her scale-lantern, longsword held in her other hand, and strode up into the air, leading their party into the Fallen Angel¡¯s corpse.

    Harald felt excitement grip him by the throat. He summoned the Dawnblade, and his heart sang as the soapstone green ancient blade appeared in his fist.

    Vic followed Nessa, and then Harald was up. He took a deep breath, raised his scale-torch, and strode after them. Up into the face of the vast polyhedron, into that yawning abyss of a pentagon, which reached out to swallow him whole.

    Then he was striding forth into an alien realm, in the dungeon, the ground uneven beneath his boots, the air filled with a thin and glowing green miasma.

    Breathing hard, he whipped around, blade held at the ready, peering and actively trying to calm the fuck down.

    ¡°Easy, everyone.¡± Being in the dungeon had an immediate soothing effect on Nessa; her tone sounded competent, calm, forceful. ¡°We¡¯ve a breather before they come at us. Easy.¡±

    They¡¯d appeared atop a rough stone dais in the center of a crossroads of sorts. The ceiling was lost some three or more stories up, and stairways and arches led off in each of the four cardinal directions into the green haze. The air smelt metallic, a subtle, damp tang, and bright green light filtered down from above through the fog with a liquid, rippling nature of that reflected off water.

    Everything was in ruins. The broad flight of stairs leading up a dozen steps behind them were buckled and smashed; a gallery of arches to their right were half tumbled down, huge ledges and columns rising to the second floor. A hallway extended ahead of them, the left wall having collapsed inward and near blocked it, while the left wall was a cliff of giant blocks, easily scaled and with ample handholds leading up into the glowing mist.

    ¡°I hate the 10th Level,¡± sniffed Vic, resting the Point over his shoulder. ¡°The smarmy little Crypt Keepers with their beady eyes, the smell, the¡­¡± He waved a hand. ¡°The pointless ruination of it all.¡±

    ¡°Sam, Harald, listen up.¡± Nessa was scanning their environs with sober intensity. ¡°The Keepers will discover our presence soon, and that will trigger the rest of them. Our being here acts like a magnet. The longer we remain, the more will come, effectively ramping up the difficulty of surviving with each passing minute. There¡¯s no defeating the 10th Level¡ªyou simply gauge when you¡¯ve had enough and leave before being overrun.¡±

    ¡°Though!¡± Vic raised a finger. ¡°The older generations had it worse. Apparently you couldn¡¯t appear and chat like we¡¯re doing back in the day without being immediately attacked. Very sad.¡± He shook his head in mock dismay. ¡°What¡¯s the 10th Level come to, I ask you?¡±

    ¡°All right.¡± Sam¡¯s tone was taut with tension. ¡°So: do we just wait here, or¡­?¡±

    ¡°Two options. Stay close to the portal so we can escape at a moment¡¯s notice, or find advantageous terrain where we can last longer. Risk and reward. Given it¡¯s your first time down here? We¡¯ll stay close to the portal. If I give the word, we leave. No arguing. Clear?¡±

    ¡°I love it when she gets like this,¡± whispered Vic. ¡°If only all of Flutic were a never-ending dungeon.¡±

    Harald had to agree. Nessa had shuffled off the anger and wounded pain she¡¯d evinced since Ascending to her second Throne, and now stood like a warrior ready, shoulders back, blade flashing down by her side, expression intent.

    ¡°Yes, Delve Captain,¡± he grinned.

    ¡°Yes.¡± Sam bit her lower lip, then shucked her pack and set it in the center of the dais by the portal. ¡°Why¡¯d we bring our packs, then?¡±

    ¡°Because you never know,¡± said Nessa. ¡°Most likely we¡¯ll just grab them on our way out, but in the dungeon you have to be ready for any eventuality. Shut up, Vic. Harald, you take that side of the square. Sam, you¡¯re there. Vic, between them. Once they start coming, call out if you¡¯re feeling pressured. Harald, Sam, mind your swings. The last thing we need is your slicing Vic¡¯s arm off.¡±

    ¡°Please,¡± said Vic. ¡°They¡¯re only Level 1. I¡¯d cut my own throat in shame if they accidentally took me off at the elbow.¡±

    Harald stepped up to his edge of the stone dais. It was perhaps three yards a side, with two rough encircling steps leading down to the ground floor of the intersectional chamber or hall or whatever you¡¯d call this space. There were about four or five yards of open floor, and then the gallery of archways started up, one main one leading into the next room proper, the others into smaller alcoves whose depths were hidden by the shifting green mist.

    ¡°Why did the guard above offer to count?¡± asked Sam. ¡°Count what?¡±

    ¡°The 10th¡¯s been a trying ground for as long as anyone can remember,¡± said Nessa, not turning around. ¡°The longer you remain on it, the more impressive. The goal for anyone under Level 4 is to pass the ten minute mark. That indicates real staying power, though as Vic said, these days it¡¯s not the same as the years of before. It¡¯s thought that to match the accomplishments of the old time raiders, you should cross the twenty minute mark.¡±

    ¡°Of course there¡¯s a record,¡± said Vic. ¡°I¡¯ll bet you an entire Copper Moon if you can guess who holds it.¡±

    ¡°Seraphine the Skyward Blade?¡± asked Harald.

    ¡°We have a winner! I was joking about the Copper, though.¡±

    ¡°How long did she remain down here?¡± asked Harald, glancing at his friend.

    ¡°If the guard who did the count can be trusted? Three hours. By herself.¡±

    ¡°Oh come on,¡± said Sam. ¡°That¡¯s impossible.¡±

    ¡°Isn¡¯t it?¡± Harald could hear Vic¡¯s grin. ¡°If you think people got excited over Harry-boy here, you should have seen the frenzy that ensued. The city went mad. Surely you heard?¡±

    ¡°Guess I wasn¡¯t listening to that kind of talk, before.¡± Harald forced himself to relax his grip on the Dawnblade. He¡¯d been throttling the hilt. ¡°I was kind of averse to all things dungeon-related.¡±

    ¡°I read about it in the Gazette,¡± said Sam. ¡°But I didn¡¯t think it was true. By herself? I assumed something ridiculous had taken place.¡±

    ¡°Something ridiculous did take place,¡± agreed Vic. ¡°Her name is Seraphine.¡±

    ¡°There.¡± Nessa¡¯s tone was sharp and quiet and pure business. Harald twisted about to see where she was pointing with her longsword up the dozen broad steps. A shadowy shape had emerged from the mist just enough to be distinguished as a silhouette.

    Perhaps four feet tall, it stood unnaturally still as it observed their party from the top of the steps.

    ¡°It¡¯s starting,¡± said Nessa, raising her blade into the Tower stance, hilt by her temple, its length pointing straight up. ¡°Eyes on your quarters.¡±

    Harald tore his gaze away from the shadowy shape just in time to see movement in what he¡¯d thought was an alcove. A subtle swirling of mist, and then a second Crypt Keeper was there, slight and cloaked as the first, its face hidden within a deep cowl.

    But this one was stalking toward him, picking up speed as it passed through the archway, its bare feet clicking on the rock, no, not its feet, the curved talons at the end of each withered toe.

    Harald resisted the urge to summon the Goldchop right away. Instead he entered the Roof stance, Dawnblade held high overhead, its point back and up and ready for a vicious downward slash.

    He could sense movement all around them now, like a great snake uncoiling, but he kept his gaze locked on his own Crypt Keeper.

    It hissed and burst into a run, coming right at him, its arms emerging from within its tattered robe, drawn back to strike, clawed and vicious as it darted at him.

    Harald fought for calm, waited till the small figure was at the base of the first step, and then struck, nerves getting the better of him so that his swing was too forceful, too wild. The Dawnblade flashed down, a great diagonal chop, but the Crypt Keeper was nimble and swayed aside as it came up.

    Shit.

    Harald had overcommitted; he fought to reverse his blow, but the Keeper was fast, much faster than the ashen walkers, a claw swinging for Harald¡¯s side¡ª

    Then the point of a blade burst out its temple, extended another two yards, needle-thin and terrible in its power, only to retract just as quickly as Vic turned back to face his own charging foe.

    ¡°Don¡¯t shit the bed, Harry-boy!¡± Vic¡¯s call was high with elation.

    Harald immediately recovered, cursing himself and his clumsy swing, and shoved the dead Keeper off the top step. It was shockingly light, and the cowl fell away to reveal its horrific visage. Wizened and withered, the brown skin was little more than shrunken parchment over the skull, is mouth lipless and rimmed with yellowed incisors, its jet black eyes staring balefully up at nothing. Wisps of straw-like hair clung to its otherwise bald head, and it looked to have been dead a century, perhaps two, its body desiccated and rolling to the bottom with barely a sound as a handful of Copper Moons appeared in the air above it.

    More movement.

    A trio of Keepers had appeared in the main archway that led to hallway beyond. Their black eyes gleamed as they prowled forward, but once they cleared the arch they spread out and raced toward him, hissing and reaching with their clawed hands.

    Harald took a deep breath, raised the Dawnblade so that its alien length glimmered as if underwater, and realized that he was no longer afraid, no longer a bundle of jagged nerves.

    Instead, he laughed, leaned forward, and as the fastest Keeper reached the bottom step, swung the Dawnblade with all the precision and power that Nessa had drilled into him over the past few weeks.

    The tip of the blade passed through the front of the Keeper¡¯s skull, cutting through the right temple, shattering its eye, passing out through its right cheekbone. It felt like hewing through dried, decayed wood. There was no blood splatter, and no time to celebrate his first kill: the Keeper on the left was charging up toward him even as the third on the right was leaping over the corpse of the foe Vic had slain.

    Tamping down the laughter, Harald engaged the Dungeon Square, practice and instinct causing him to step to the side as he reversed his strike to come up from the opposite angle, and slashed off the Keeper¡¯s outstretched hand as if it were kindling.

    The monster screeched and dove at Harald¡¯s feet, perhaps seeking to tangle him up, but he was already gliding back to his original spot, Dawnblade flashing up again to catch it in the jaw and shatter its skull.

    The third lunged at him from the top step, too close to be rebuffed, so Harald slammed the pommel of his sword into its withered face with all his strength as its claws tore grooves into his leather armor.

    Its face collapsed as it stumbled back, and with a hefty kick to its narrow chest Harald sent it sailing down the steps to crash down beside its dead companion.

    Battle was joined on all sides of the dais. He dared a quick glance around. Vic was singing a filthy tavern ditty as he skewered rushing Keepers in the face with the Point, not even bothering to adopt a combat stance, while Nessa faced a half-dozen foes, her blade dancing between them and keeping them at bay. Sam had summoned her Shield of Valor, which had positioned itself on her hard right flank, even as the Thornguard guarded her left, allowing her to stab down the center at another trio of Keepers who hissed and lunged up at her.

    But that was all he could afford to take in.

    Looking back, he saw six Keepers emerging from the main hall before from him, each identical to the last, though these hadn¡¯t bothered to keep their cowls down. Noseless, sharp-fanged mouths opened, eyes burning with hate, they glared at him as they broke into a rush.

    ¡°All right,¡± said Harald, settling back into the Tower Stance. ¡°All right. Here we go.¡±

    And for the first time ever, he allowed the Aura of the Aching Depths to awaken with all the might of his second Throne.

 Chapter 53

    Power came flooding up from Harald¡¯s core.

    The Throne of Harmony had sustained him until now, and Harald had thought himself blessed. But with that source of strength now came the Throne of Shadows, distinct in flavor, a twining of darkness to the righteousness of the first.

    Aura of the Aching Depths flared forth from him like an explosion. The air darkened, the green miasma seeming to lose its emerald hue, and the temperature dropped. Harald felt the power flood the air, dense and heavy like the cold waters at the depths of a frigid lake. Sound grew muffled as the Keepers¡¯ charge seemed to falter.

    But there was something new, something more: Harald felt himself the center of a vital, terrible power that elevated him, that extended his presence over his foes. The abyss no longer felt distinct from him; he was within its depths, his mind, his heart, his will. It saturated that absence, like ink dropped into water, and he felt the Demonic Seed thrill, felt it vibrate deep within him as it infiltrated the Ability, corrupted it.

    Harald lowered his chin as a feeling of utter lethality consumed him. The length of the Dawnblade turned wicked black as Abyssal Attunement swept up the Artifact, consuming the soapstone green and making it something utterly inimical to flesh.

    Poised at the top of the three broad steps, his abyssal blade raised before him, his will saturating the air and bending the very laws of nature to his might, Harald felt himself invincible.

    The six Keepers came on, but it was clear that they had become mired in doubt. No longer did they claw at each other to be first; now they hunched close, forming a tightly knit phalanx of cloaks and claws, slowing, slowing till at the very last they stopped just beyond the reach of his blade, their corpse-like visages raised to regard him with horror and hate.

    ¡°What?¡± Harald called down to them in savage joy, and spread his arms as if in surprise. ¡°Has your courage abandoned you?¡±

    Aura of the Aching Depths caused the very shadows around their legs to writhe, weighed upon their shoulders like leaden mantles, sapped at their vigor as it infused their primitive minds with panic.

    Harald laughed and stepped down to meet them, sweeping his abyssal blade before him. It clove through the front ranks, and where its edge met undead flesh the abyss did bloom, cleaving through the Keepers with terrible ease. Their cloaks were sufficiently voluminous that Harald couldn¡¯t see their flesh darken from the kiss of the void, but he saw wisps of shadow enshroud their wounds like ebon vipers, spiraling out as if in celebration of the violence.

    The three Keepers in the front wailed and pushed back against the others.

    Harald felt no pity. Felt no remorse. He reversed his strike, a second great scything blow, and he threshed them like wheat, cutting down the front rank with a two-handed blow as pulses of energy entered him. The remaining three found their wits; they split, two going wide, the center one leaping for him in a frenzy.

    Harald simply stepped back as he brought his sword sweeping up from below; the strike caught the Keeper up the length of its chest, and the abyss helped split the monster¡¯s torso in half, the Dawnblade slashing up through its chest and emerging just shy of its shoulder.

    The other two pounced, but Harald didn¡¯t wait. He dove forward, throwing himself into a roll, and hit the uneven ground hard, coming up swiftly and turning to hack at the first Keeper to give chase.

    A brutal strike that cut through half of one hand and severed the other arm at the shoulder. Harald turned his own shoulder and slammed the mauled Keeper away, then parried a strike from the second, knocking aside the clawed attack and near severing the arm even as he reversed his blade and took off the foe¡¯s head at the neck.

    The Keepers were definitely moving slower. It was as if they waded through shin-deep waters, the Aura of the Aching Depths sapping their speed, dulling their reflexes.

    A blow to the right, a downward chop to the front, and both remaining monsters died.

    Someone gave a warning shout, but Harald didn¡¯t need it. He stepped toward the dais even as he turned to face the arches, and saw a wall of Keepers coming at him.

    Ten? Fifteen?

    He didn¡¯t bother trying to count.

    They swarmed out of the shadows, tightly bunched like a carpet of rats, right till they hit the adumbrated edge of his Aching Depths.

    Harald felt it like a sudden pressure, their minds or hearts or wills resisting his Ability. Fascinating. The first few hadn¡¯t even registered, but enough foes, it seemed, could seek to overwhelm his aura, to dampen it, break clean through.

    Not if he had anything to do with it.

    Harald stopped on only the first step and leaned forward, abyssal blade rising to Ox stance, hilt by his temple, point aimed squarely at the mass of Keepers, and through its length he channeled his will, his might, the flowering power unleashed by the Throne of Shadows.

    His aura solidified around the rushing Keepers, darkening and claiming them.

    Sheer momentum kept them coming over the buckled flagstones. They rushed at him, a wall of talons and burning black eyes, and he heard again Vic shouting at him, a stern command.

    But the power of his Abilities had him like strong wine, and after all, he wasn¡¯t done yet.

    ¡°Goldchop,¡± he whispered, summoning the Masterwork Artifact. ¡°Come out and play.¡±

    Twin golden-headed hatchets appeared in the air on either side of him, gleaming like lost treasure espied in the depths of a shipwreck. They wafted from side to side gently, at ease, and Harald felt raw exaltation seize him again, felt his Strength and Constitution rise in a visceral, heady manner, felt himself become a monster of ruin. Maddened by the sheer joy of battle he charged forth, down off that first step, over the corpses of the first Keepers, and right into the face of the enemy.

    The Goldchops got to work.

    They blurred as if hurled by expert woodsmen, flying forward just ahead of him to sink into a Keeper¡¯s head, bursting them open and spinning into the next rank.

    Harald executed the Dungeon Square, the Abyssal Attunement making each slash lethal, infecting and draining the Keepers with the enervating void. The Aching Depths blanketed them all, so that the battle took place as if in Harald¡¯s home turf, causing the smaller fiends to second-guess their every attack, to draw back when they should have pushed forward.

    And the Goldchops.

    By the Fallen Angel and her heavenly kin, the Goldchops demonstrated why they were worth 1,000,000 scales.

    They flew without surcease. They never drew back, never waited for another opponent, never paused to re-evaluate the field. Instead they spun in perfect tandem with each other, crisscrossing back and forth, and with each sweep a Crypt Keeper died.

    So that Harald had barely cut down two before he realized half the foes were already dead, their bodies exploding into dust and fragments as the heavy hatchets slammed through them.

    Better yet, the Goldchops seemed to intuit where he was going next, their lethal attacks never interfering or getting in his way. Harald was hesitant for but a few moments as he feared swinging the Dawnblade through a passing ax, but quickly realized the Goldchops were too canny for that; they covered his flanks, flew deeper into the fray, returned to encircle him briefly, but never got into the path of his blade.

    Harald laughed and set to hewing.

    True to Nessa¡¯s word, the Crypt Keepers weren¡¯t actually intelligent. They were creatures of instinct, keen to close and kill, but now, so many of them cut down so quickly, another set of instincts kicked in.

    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    The remaining five screeched and turned and fled.

    And Harald gave chase.

    Through the massive archway into the next hall, were he saw a mass of Keeper reinforcements coming out of the brickwork. They were crawling out of gaps in the huge blocks, rushing down the hall from the distant exit, racing like rats along the ledges.

    His five prey, gaining this hall and feeling security in numbers, turned to face him, hunching and hissing their defiance.

    Harald knew what he should have done.

    He should have immediately retreated.

    It was the wise course of action. Strategic. Sound.

    But his whole life had been building toward this one single moment.

    This moment when he could impose his bloody-minded will upon the world, could assert his desire, and defy the odds.

    When he could step forward instead of cowering back as he¡¯d always done.

    So he cast a single glance across the hall, taking in the ledges, the ratholes, the length of the chamber with its onrushing foes, and as the Goldchops came to a stop to hover by his shoulders like faithful hounds, he grinned.

    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± he whispered, and lunged forward.

    The Aura of the Aching Depths washed out before him, desaturating the green miasma, bringing cold and numbness to his foes. His abyssal blade swept out in an opening slash, but both of these paled in comparison to the Goldchops.

    They momentarily shivered as if in delight, then like dire mastiffs unleashed at last by a disciplined master, they flew forward and began to wreck true ruin upon the Keepers.

    Harald could sense them dimly as he fought, his blade sweeping up and down through each quadrant. Could sense when they flew high to sweep the ledges, when they clove back along the walls, when they swooped around behind him like circling hawks.

    And where they flew they brought dismemberment, decapitations, and death.

    But the Crypt Keepers kept coming. Harald pushed forward when he could, gave ground when he had to. His longsword¡¯s reach was a huge advantage; by keeping it in constant swirling motion, he was able to maintain a wall of steel between him and his foes.

    With the Goldchops out his Strength was raised to a potent 13, his Constitution an even more impressive 14.

    This made him feel endlessly invincible. He swung his blade without tiring, endless cycles of his disciplined patterns that he believed he could maintain forever.

    But strong and resilient as he¡¯d become, his finesse was lacking; too many times he swung and missed, Keepers ducking or leaping aside as they guessed at this pattern, his intent. He¡¯d try to adjust his swing on the fly, but his reactions still felt crude in comparison to the Keepers¡¯.

    Dexterity 9.

    He gritted his teeth and resolved that he wouldn¡¯t stop till he¡¯d raised it as high as his other stats.

    Soon the ground around him was littered with corpses, and to his surprise this made finding his footing treacherous; he didn¡¯t want to back out of the hall, but more often than not he found himself stumbling as he placed his boot on a dead Keeper¡¯s chest, or tripped on an outflung or outright severed limb.

    Sweat beaded his brow, and his breath was coming strong and steady.

    And still the Crypt Keepers came.

    More and more flooded out of the side channels and emerged at the far end of the hall, undismayed right until they ran into his aura.

    Which was growing cramped by the sheer number of enemies assailing him, contracting ever closer to Harald as he was pressed on all sides.

    Blows began to land upon him, claws raking his leather armor, slashing at his thighs, trying to sever his fingers or dislodge his grip on the Dawnblade. Wizened faces were all around him, hissing and reaching, and for each one that he cut down two more seemed to take their place, scrambling over the mounds of the dead with terrible adroitness.

    Only the Goldchops kept the playing field even. They were interminable in their lethality, never losing speed, never ceasing their butchery. They worked the walls, decimated the middle ranks, blazed back to whittle down the Keepers threatening his flanks.

    But even they were growing overwhelmed.

    Harald slashed a Keeper¡¯s face open, the abyss blackening its visage, and felt the power of this twin Thrones begin to lessen.

    For how long had he been fighting? The dead were everywhere, the air above them a twinkling field of hovering Copper Moons.

    Gasping for breath, his control over the Dawnblade growing more clumsy by the moment as his stamina began to fail him, Harald stumbled back.

    And then his twin Thrones run out of power.

    It felt like hitting that sudden wall of exhaustion during a long run. One moment you were floating along, felling invincible, then suddenly iron bands began to tighten around your chest, your legs to grow heavy, sweat running into your eyes.

    Harald¡¯s Aching Depths died away, and his Dawnblade became its customary green.

    Panicked, Harald stumbled back, reaching again and again for his Thrones, but they were tapped out.

    A kite shield floated forth to take station at his right flank. Sam¡¯s Shield of Valor. Harald wanted to turn, to glance back, but the Keeper before him held his attention, bobbing and ducking and lunging at him with wicked swipes of its claws.

    Then the Point extended silently and explosively just over his shoulder to slide into a Keeper¡¯s brow, punching a fragmented hole clear through its skull and retracting before the monster could collapse.

    ¡°Think you¡¯ve had enough, darling,¡± called Victor, attempting for a bored tone. It wasn¡¯t convincing. ¡°Shall we head back for a spot of tea?¡±

    Harald didn¡¯t even bother nodding. Crypt Keepers kept coming, swarming over the fallen, hiding the mass of Copper Moons. Looking out over the long hall, he saw an ocean of wizened faces, and more coming.

    Time to go.

    He quickly shuffled back, trying not to trip on corpses, and then a warm sensation washed over him, like backing out of a cold crypt into the radiant light of the morning sun. Harald felt a shift in the air, a lightening of his spirit that allowed him to draw a deeper breath and cleared his mind of the burgeoning panic. Doubt and fear fell away, and suddenly he felt himself again, grounded and secure, supported by his crew and in control of the situation.

    He willed the Goldchops to come in close and guard him tightly, and like summoned hounds they ceased their wide swoops and spun toward him, cleaving through the interposing Keepers.

    The Point slid out again and again, surgically executing those that came too close, and then Harald was at the archway, Sam backing out beside him, Vic gesturing for them to retreat to the dais as he fought the rearguard action.

    Sam¡¯s Beacon of Hope.

    That was the source of his newfound conviction and purity of purpose.

    He grinned at her,  then dared to glance back at the dais. Had they cleared this room of all foes, allowing them to come to his aid?

    No.

    Harald¡¯s eyes widened as he saw what Nessa was doing.

    He¡¯d thought he¡¯d seen her fight at her full extent before, but now he realized just how wrong he¡¯d been.

    She alone held the dais against foes coming at her from three sides. Her longsword danced with impossible grace, following nothing so quotidian and banal as a Dungeon Square but simply flowing where needed, weaving an endless net of cutting silver. Each strike took down not one but several Crypt Keepers, with an occasional strike unleashing a a blast of lightning that leaped amongst the massed ranks, causing Keepers to fall back.

    She fought wildly, bravely, her thick mane of ebon curls framing a face of ferocious determination. Somehow she parried attacks that she couldn¡¯t have seen, sweeping away attacks and severing hands before they could reach her, though even as Harald ran back he saw a Keeper land a blow on her thigh that was somehow turned aside by fortune or her power.

    But even Harald could tell Nessa was slowing, her Abilities running out. Of course. She had access but to the same twin Thrones. How had she managed to make it last longer than his own?

    No time to ask. She saw him racing up and a snarl of fury twisted her features. ¡°Through the damn portal!¡±

    Harald bit back a protest. He swept up his pack just a stride before Sam, re-absorbed the Goldchops, and ran at the swirling oval of black energy.

    There was no disorientation; his affinity with the abyss made the transportation back to the Dungeon Plaza a smooth one, so that instead he stumbled out upon the Copper platform and into the midday sun without losing his stride.

    Only to turn and reach out to catch Sam as she came hurrying after. For a moment they stood clutching each other, watching the polyhedron with frantic intensity, and then Vic came jogging down from the great pentagon, followed a second later by Nessa.

    Sweet relief flooded Harald as he saw they were unhurt but for a few minor scrapes. He dismissed the Dawnblade and bent over, hands on his knees, heart pounding, feeling a sweet sense of exaltation.

    ¡°Thirteen minutes and thirty-five seconds,¡± said the bulldog of a guard with grudging respect. ¡°Not bad, not bad at all.¡±

    Vic winced as he wiped his brow, then looked at his palm in dismay. ¡°I¡¯m sweating.¡±

    Nessa caught her breath, but raised her palm in a peremptory manner when Harald went to speak to her. Instead she strode past him, still looking furious, and approached the taxation counter.

    Nonplussed, Harald followed.

    Even Sam was giving him dirty looks when she glanced his way at all.

    Nobody had much to declare. Harald hadn¡¯t even had the time or presence of mind to collect any Coppers, so that shortly after presenting their windows, they were dismissed and free to step out onto the plaza.

    ¡°Well,¡± Harald began, taking his water bottle from his hip. ¡°That was exciting.¡±

    ¡°Follow,¡± snapped Nessa, and began striding across the plaza toward the inn they¡¯d used last time.

    ¡°Uh oh,¡± said Vic. ¡°Looks like someone¡¯s in for a spanking. And not the delightfully erotic kind.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Harald wiped his armored forearm across his brow and took a second swig of water. ¡°Sam?¡±

    But she only shook her head and followed after the first two.

    Harald was about to call after them in confusion and dismay when the sound of metallic stars ringing out against the abyss filled his mind:

    The Demon Seed Has Stirred

    Your Dexterity has risen from 9 to 10

    Success!

    Even as he felt savage satisfaction at his accomplishment¡ªhow long had it been since he¡¯d attracted the Seed¡¯s notice?¡ªhe watched his crew walk away.

    ¡°Damn.¡± His elation and frustration gave way to chagrin.

    If his Demon Seed approved, and Nessa was pissed, then it didn¡¯t take a genius to figure out why.

    Harald set out after them.

    But even though he knew he was in trouble, even though he knew on an academic level that he¡¯d fucked up somehow, he couldn¡¯t shake the sense of accomplishment. Couldn¡¯t shake the memory of brutal joy from wading into battle with his abyssal blade and his glorious, his murderous, his absolutely unstoppable Goldchops.

 Chapter 54

    ¡°What the hell was that, Harald?¡± Nessa spun to glare at him, and in that moment none of her vulnerabilities or weaknesses were visible. The woman who wrestled with glory, the laconic and wry companion, all were gone. In their place stood their Delve Captain, a Bladeweaver 4 of pure, seething fury.

    Harald balked, having just closed the door to their newly rented room. He glanced at the other two for support and found none. Vic had retreated immediately to the window seat, while Sam stood to one side, arms crossed over her armor.

    ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t know. I got carried away by my new Abilities, I guess. The Throne of Shadows made everything¡­¡± He shook his head. ¡°And did you see what my Goldchops did?¡±

    Nessa stepped forward and chopped her hand as if cutting through his words. ¡°You were a liability, straight up and nothing else.¡±

    ¡°Well, I don¡¯t know if I¡¯d go that far, did you see how many¡ª¡±

    ¡°You left the dais!¡± Nessa¡¯s tone rose higher in sheer disbelief. ¡°In strict disobedience to my commands! Then you actually left the fucking main chamber and pushed on, alone, into the oncoming horde, so that we lost sight of you altogether. Harald!¡± She pressed her fingertips to her temples in distress and anger. ¡°Did you suddenly become deaf that you couldn¡¯t hear our shouts? What the hell came over you?¡±

    Harald hunched his shoulders and again darted glances at the other two, but they listened impassively, obviously in full agreement with Nessa.

    ¡°Look.¡± He forced himself to exhale. ¡°You¡¯re right. I¡¯m sorry. I got carried away¡ª¡±

    ¡°No, Harald.¡± Another step and she was almost in his face now. ¡°You can¡¯t just apologize your way out of this. You disobeyed me several times below. You forced Vic and Sam to go after you, abandoning their posts so they could extract you while I had to hold three fronts by myself.¡±

    Her eyes flashed as she glared at him. ¡°Thank the Fallen Angel this was only the 10th Level, because any lower? Someone would have died, Harald. They¡¯d be dead right now because of your idiocy.¡±

    Harald closed his eyes and fought for restraint. The memory of his savage joy at wading in amongst his foes was still fresh in his mind. He wanted to protest, to argue, to explain how right it had felt, how everything had turned out OK in the end, and she was overreacting. How he¡¯d learned his lesson¡ª

    But he wouldn¡¯t have, would he, if used that protest to silence her?

    ¡°Fuck,¡± he muttered, and hung his head, hands on his hips. ¡°You¡¯re right. I messed up. The power got to me. The Goldchop made me feel invincible. I screwed up. You¡¯re right. I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    Nessa clearly wanted to continue berating him, but finally she threw up her arms and strode away.

    ¡°Darling. Champ. Can I call you ¡®champ¡¯, Harry-boy?¡±

    ¡°You can call me whatever the fuck you want, Vic,¡± said Harald in a leaden tone.

    ¡°Careful. But listen. I¡¯ve seen it a thousand times before. Bad boys with their bad toys. The Goldchop¡¯s a mighty piece of work. It¡¯s actually our fault we didn¡¯t foresee your going crazy down there. It¡¯s like that time we brought that newly defrocked Seraphite to the Kitty Kat Club, remember Nessa? How he dove in like a professional swimmer, never to resurface?¡±

    Sam clutched at her head. ¡°I¡ªwhat? Vic, what are you even talking about?¡±

    Vic turned to her, earnest. ¡°This Seraphite, what was his name¡­?¡±

    ¡°Pastoric,¡± said Nessa as if against her will.

    Vic snapped his fingers. ¡°Pastoric! Tall, handsome, with a full head of hair. The whores went crazy for him. I swear, they adopted him without reservation, gave him room and board so that he could shrive them of their sins at dawn then help them commit every single one again at dusk.¡±

    Sam looked pained. ¡°What the hell does that have to do with Harald?¡±

    ¡°Hmm?¡± Vic looked confused. ¡°What about Harald?¡±

    ¡°Look.¡± Harald raised his voice. ¡°I¡­ something came over me while I was down there. I noticed it when I first used the Aura of the Aching Depths. It was far more intense than before, but not just because of my second Throne. It¡¯s as if I could see it spreading out around me, and there was a second layer of darkness running through it. I felt the Demon Seed¡­ it felt like it was singing, exerting itself, corrupting my Ability.¡±

    Nessa crossed her arms, clearly skeptical. ¡°The Demon Seed corrupted the abyss?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s what it felt like. I¡­ it felt like I became drunk on the killing. And the more I killed, the more the Seed exulted. And that became all I could hear or think on.¡± Harald rubbed at his jaw, trying to untangle the jumble of emotions in his memory. ¡°It called me in, and it felt so damn good to obey.¡±

    ¡°Uh oh,¡± said Vic. ¡°Time to call on ol¡¯ Pastoric and see if he can do a midday shriving.¡±

    ¡°No, this is serious,¡± snapped Sam. She stepped up alongside Harald and touched his elbow. ¡°You¡¯re saying you fell under the Seed¡¯s influence?¡±

    ¡°I mean, I was myself, but¡­ I didn¡¯t even realize it, yes.¡± Harald met Sam¡¯s alarmed stare. ¡°It was me. Just¡­ a very singularly focused me.¡±

    ¡°What are you saying, Harald?¡± Nessa¡¯s tone remained sharp. ¡°You¡¯re not reliable in the dungeon? That¡¯s going to be a problem.¡±

    ¡°No, I¡­¡± He trailed off, trying to figure himself out. ¡°It took me by surprise. All the sudden power, the Goldchop¡­ I wasn¡¯t ready for it. But now I am. It¡¯s a danger only if I¡¯m not ready for it. I won¡¯t let it happen again.¡±

    Nessa held his gaze from across the room.

    He met it, raised his chin, and tried to convey just how deeply he meant it.

    Finally she sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. ¡°Damn it. Our first mission, the very first time I lead as the Delve Captain, and it almost goes to hell. That¡¯s not encouraging, Harald.¡±

    ¡°I know. It won¡¯t happen again.¡±

    ¡°The real question,¡± drawled Vic, ¡°is why Daddy Vorakhar didn¡¯t show up.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re not calling him that,¡± said Sam, tone flat.

    ¡°Why would he?¡± Nessa¡¯s tone grew scornful. ¡°He just had to sit back and admire how his Seed did all the work for him.¡±

    ¡°We need to go back.¡± Harald punched one hand into the other palm. ¡°Not the 10th Level. Some place we can be more strategic, have more time. I understand your thinking the intensity of the 10th would draw his notice, but perhaps we can ease it up just a little so that I can focus on calling to him.¡±

    ¡°Hmm.¡± Nessa glanced at Vic. ¡°What do you think?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m all for it.¡± The Point materialized in his hand. ¡°This thing is delightful. I¡¯m not sure I even drew my rapier.¡± He turned it about, smiling widely. ¡°We¡¯re going to need to hit the deeper levels soon, or I¡¯m liable to become criminally lazy.¡±

    Nessa glanced over. ¡°Sam?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m fine.¡± Sam gave a brisk nod. ¡°It was pretty intense there for a bit, but between the Thornguard and my own Shield of Valor the enemy could barely get to me.¡±

    ¡°So you¡¯ve changed your mind on the Thornguard?¡± asked Harald.

    Sam hesitated. ¡°It¡¯s pretty incredible. I could count on anyone who struck it being neutralized for a good five or six seconds as they fought clear of the vines. It allowed me to create my own bottleneck, as long as my extreme flanks were secure.¡±

    ¡°Sorry,¡± said Harald, and to his surprise Sam merely nodded instead of protesting that she understood. She clearly was changing.

    ¡°Fine.¡± Nessa swept her curly black hair back. ¡°I¡¯ll need another thong with which to tie back my hair. Braid came apart when one of the Keeper¡¯s almost scalped me. But¡­ perhaps the 6th?¡±

    ¡°Not the 6th,¡± protested Vic immediately. ¡°I hate getting my feet wet.¡±

    Nessa rolled her eyes. ¡°The 7th?¡±

    Vic considered. ¡°A little claustrophobic, don¡¯t you think?¡±

    Sam perked up. ¡°The 7th¡¯s called the Veinways, isn¡¯t it? We¡¯d have to fight single file.¡±

    ¡°The 8th, then. Because we¡¯re definitely not doing the 9th while Harald¡¯s getting a grip on himself.¡±

    ¡°The 8th.¡± Vic sighed. ¡°I¡¯m self-aware enough to realize that none of the levels below the 5th are very pleasant. Either you get your feet wet or your head bitten off. The 8th Level being an example of just that.¡±

    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

    ¡°The 8th,¡± said Harald. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ isn¡¯t that the one called the Carnivorous Labyrinth?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± said Sam. ¡°That¡¯s the 18th. The 8th is infamous for its sole monster type, known as Gloom Maws.¡± She glanced nervously at Nessa, who nodded for her to continue. ¡°They¡¯re basically the size of cows, but their entire front half is all fanged mouth. They either move slowly on their small front four legs or spring like fleas with their back ones.¡±

    Vic sighed dolorously.

    ¡°But!¡± Sam spoke quickly before Harald could complain. ¡°Their hides are pretty soft, they¡¯re predictable, and they never move in groups larger than three. The bigger they are, the more solitary they tend to be.¡±

    ¡°Well done, Samantha Tuppins,¡± said Nessa, and Sam flushed. ¡°You¡¯re right. Gloom Maws can bite a grown woman in half, but that¡¯s only if they hit you when they leap. Once you learn the signal, it¡¯s pretty easy to jump aside. They¡¯re as liable to bash themselves brainless against the walls as they are anything else, so the trick is to simply remain alert and on your toes.¡±

    ¡°To be clear,¡± said Vic, ¡°they are customarily only found in groups of three or less. But I have it on good account that they can sometimes be found in packs of six or seven, which sounds like an absolute disaster.¡±

    ¡°The danger lies in being caught in a narrow tunnel,¡± said Nessa. ¡°If you fight them in one of the main caverns, you¡¯ve got room to maneuver, but those caverns are connected by lengthy tunnels that wind about so that you never can see very far ahead. If you turn a corner and run into a pack, they can leap at you without your having much room to dodge.¡±

    ¡°What do you do then?¡± asked Harald.

    Nessa¡¯s eyes glittered coldly. ¡°Why, you cut them down, Harald. That¡¯s what you do.¡±

    ¡°I thought you said they were the size of cows.¡± Harald glanced at Sam. ¡°We¡¯re meant to cut leaping cows in half mid-air?¡±

    Sam shrugged.

    ¡°Oh, relax.¡± Vic stood. ¡°The trick lies in not charging down the tunnels in one massed group while belting out the latest tavern ditty. If you¡¯re cautious and smart the Gloomies¡ª¡±

    ¡°Gloomies?¡± asked Sam.

    ¡°¡ªpose very little danger. Especially as I can now simply skewer them in mid-air.¡± Vic smiled. ¡°The 8th it is!¡±

    ¡°As long as we find a moment for me to call Vorakhar,¡± said Harald.

    ¡°But of course.¡± Vic smiled benignly. ¡°And, better yet, your average Gloomy renders a good eight or nine Coppers per kill. Not bad! And if you find a Gloomy nest, you can sometimes even find a cache of Silver Starbursts. Why, I remember when I was young¡ª¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s get going then,¡± said Nessa. ¡°Harald? You¡¯re going to listen this time?¡±

    ¡°Absolutely,¡± he said. ¡°I swear it.¡±

    Nessa considered him, then gave a grudging nod. ¡°Fair warning, though. We¡¯re now an official crew. Disobedience has penalties spelt out in the charter. I know you¡¯re familiar with them.¡±

    ¡°I am. Speaking of which, our venture below to the 10th netted you four Aurora Veils. So, not all bad.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± she smiled. ¡°Not all bad. Let¡¯s get going.¡±

    Harald opened the door and stepped back with mock courtesy so everyone could file out past him. When he was left alone in the room, he allowed himself to exhale in relief. That had gone far better than it might have.

    *

    They had to line up to reach the Copper Gate this time round, as several parties were being processed before them. Two belonged to House Drakenhart, though Lady Hammerfell wasn¡¯t amongst them, while the third wore the forest green and black of Thornvale.

    It was a blessed respite that Thracos wasn¡¯t in their group, either.

    That didn¡¯t stop Harald from glaring at the party, projecting his annoyance and frustration onto their crew. Three men and two women wore the Thornvale colors, and they were clearly as fresh to raiding as he was; they jested and teased each other but failed to hide the undercurrent of tension riding high amongst their number.

    ¡°Hey,¡± said Sam, bumping his shoulder with her own. ¡°You all right?¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡± The response had been reflexive, so he paused to actually consider. ¡°Actually, yes. I think so. You?¡±

    ¡°Still a little in awe of what you did down on the 10th, to be honest.¡±

    ¡°Oh yeah?¡± Harald gazed at her in surprise. ¡°I thought I just got everyone mad at me.¡±

    ¡°Well, that too.¡± Sam smiled. ¡°But there¡¯s no denying how amazing you looked when you charged into the Crypt Keepers with those Goldchops flying. Those hatchets are lethal. I¡¯m so jealous!¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re amazing.¡± Harald couldn¡¯t help but beam. ¡°Masterwork is amazing. They made me feel almost invulnerable.¡±

    ¡°Almost being the operable word. Makes one wonder what an Epic Artifact can do.¡±

    ¡°Forget Epic. Imagine a Mythic one?¡±

    ¡°You could coast right down into the Diamond Levels with a Mythic weapon,¡± sighed Sam. ¡°Too bad they¡¯re not just lying around.¡±

    ¡°You all right, though?¡± Harald studied her. ¡°You¡¯ve been going through a lot.¡±

    Sam forced a bright and unconvincing smile. ¡°Me? Of course! Free, my own space, an official crew, the world¡¯s mine for the taking.¡±

    ¡°Uh huh,¡± said Harald, but she winked at him in what was clearly a forced attempt at jocularity and looked ahead. ¡°Hey, we¡¯re up.¡±

    ¡°Welcome to the Copper Gate. The great city of Flutic salutes her¡ªoh. Back so soon?¡± The lead guard at the Copper Gate appraised them as they stepped up. Old, cadaverous, and taller than even Harald by a whole foot, he could have been a ringleader for the Crypt Keepers given his desiccated and wizened appearance.

    Nessa clicked her tongue in amusement and simply held out their writ, which the guard waved aside. ¡°Don¡¯t overdo it, now.¡±

    They were processed quickly once more, though none of the formalities were skipped. Declarations were made, windows were projected, and then they passed through the Copper Gate proper to the wooden deck beyond which spun and vibrated the huge polyhedron.

    It still unnerved Harald to gaze up at its multifaceted form. As large as a house, it spun and twisted without rhyme or reason, sometimes pausing, then abruptly blurring again as it rotated violently in all directions.

    ¡°Hello again,¡± said the platform guard. ¡°What level this time?¡±

    ¡°8th,¡± said Nessa, drawing her scale-lantern. She popped out its drawer, removed the Copper Crescent, and fed a Golden Dawn in its place.

    ¡°Gonna feed the Gloom Maws, are ya?¡± The guard grinned, but Nessa ignored him to turn around and gaze at the rest of them.

    ¡°Lanterns out, blades at the ready. The 8th isn¡¯t famous for having a soft landing, and the Gloom Maws are always moving. Ready?¡±

    They all nodded as they prepared.

    Nessa drew out eight Copper Crescents and raised her palm to the huge portal.

    It keyed in on her, or the Crescents, at any rate, and spun about to freeze with a pentagon facing them, eight gold notches marked along one side.

    ¡°Nice and easy,¡± Nessa called, striding forward and then up into the air. ¡°Here we go.¡±

    They proceeded in the same order as before. Vic, then Harald.

    Up he strode, into that great carnivorous portal, and for the second time that day he climbed straight up and was wrenched through the abyss to be transported deep underground.

    Harald stepped out into a dripping hall whose length was ribbed by receding arches. These descended on both sides to meld with brutal columns beyond which ran side aisles. The air was damp, the smell rich and pungent, and the floor of the central hall glimmered wetly, reflecting the light of their scale-lamps in liquid smears.

    ¡°Oh, how I¡¯ve missed this place,¡± muttered Vic, raising a handkerchief to his nose. ¡°How I¡¯m supposed to fight with one hand I¡¯ve no idea.¡±

    ¡°The same way you conduct your solitary love-life, darling,¡± said Nessa absently as she turned in a slow circle. Her scale-lantern cast a far stronger light now, fueled as it was by the Golden Dawn, its radiance extending some twenty yards around them. ¡°With bleak desperation.¡±

    Sam laughed under her breath.

    Harald clipped his lantern to his belt and raised the Dawnblade. The sound of waterdrops falling was loud and echoey, while the hanging chains motif from the 4th Level was repeated between each archway. The stone walls were mapped by rot and lichen, and everything felt dismal and grotesque.

    The Portal stood still and dead in the center of this great hall. Harald resisted the urge to pat it, and instead glanced at Nessa. ¡°Which way?¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s make sure this area is clear of Gloomies,¡± she replied tersely. ¡°You never want to retreat back into an enemy you overlooked by accident.¡±

    ¡°I knew you¡¯d take to my sophisticated street slang,¡± gloated Vic. ¡°And you dared mock me.¡±

    ¡°Gloom Maws,¡± sighed Nessa. ¡°Let¡¯s search and clear, then move on.¡±

    Nessa and Vic took the lead, while Sam and Harald warily came behind. The large, lengthy hall was devoid of its own light source, so that it felt as if they moved within an island of pale gold, endless huge columns and archways sliding into view then disappearing behind them into the dark.

    But the large hall proved empty. Only the occasional rising cloud of steam disturbed the stillness.

    ¡°All right,¡± said Nessa. ¡°Harald? Want to petition your patron?¡±

    ¡°Right.¡± Harald shook out his shoulders, rested the Dawnblade upon his shoulders, and turned to gaze out into the dark. ¡°Vorakhar? Can you hear me? I request your presence. One of your siblings is interfering with me up top.¡±

    ¡°Up top,¡± quoted Vic. ¡°How delightfully colloquial.¡±

    Harald listened intently, watched for the rising tide of darkness that presaged Vorakhar¡¯s arrival.

    Nothing.

    ¡°Perhaps you have to focus on the Demon Seed?¡± asked Sam. ¡°Use it to reach him?¡±

    ¡°Sure,¡± allowed Harald, though he had no idea what that meant. ¡°I¡¯ll, ah, focus on the Seed, and¡­ see what happens.¡±

    He closed his eyes. The Seed had been pushed into his brow, but he felt no presence in his mind. Instead, whenever the Seed rewarded his efforts, he¡¯d felt that vibration, that excitement, somewhere distant yet all around him, as if in his Cosmos.

    Hmm.

    He¡¯d not seen it below the last couple of times he¡¯d dived down into his core, but maybe that was because his personal Fallen Angel had taken all his attention?

    Settling his shoulders, he frowned and willed his mind to dive into his own spiritual depths. The sense of the 8th Level hallway receded, the company of his friends, and slowly he felt the glory of the Fallen Angel rise up to meet him.

    It was harder to accomplish while standing and distracted by thoughts of demons, but soon he manifested that great divine armature and its constellation of scales. He gazed in wonder upon its whole, then tore his gaze away to study the firmament that surrounded it, seeking something awry.

    At the far periphery he saw the Dawnblade hovering, splendid and beautiful, a representation whose size he had trouble gauging. Beside it, somehow more resplendent and potent, floated the Goldchop.

    The sight of both Artifacts gave Harald immense satisfaction. But they weren¡¯t what he¡¯d come to find.

    For a while he saw nothing but shifting colors, pinpricks of beautiful starlight, the depths of the aether amongst which the surviving four Angels swam.

    But finally he noticed a section not for the presence of something, but for the absence of light. A cleft of darkness hung in the depths of the starfields, and when he focused his attention upon it, a shape revealed itself, as if it had awaited this moment to step forward through a parting in the curtains.

    It looked nothing so much as a great bloody pit from the heart of a rotten peach. Its black surface was whorled and swirled with endless grooves in whose depths pulsed faint crimson flickers. It radiated such malevolence and force that Harald immediately recoiled, felt himself surge up and away from his Cosmos, clawing for wakefulness as a drowning swimmer might the surface.

    But he had an Ego of 23.

    He mastered himself swiftly, brought his fear to heel, and sank back down to gaze upon the Demon Seed.

    Already it had retreated into its shadowed alcove. But there was no denying its presence, nor how its energy washed out over his Cosmos.

    Harald felt his heart shudder, but he forced himself to draw closer.

    Vorakhar? Can you hear me?

    He pulsed his thoughts at the Demon Seed, not even remotely confident that this would work.

    Nothing.

    Vorakhar? One of your siblings meddles in our affairs.

    The Demon Seed pulsed, sending out a shockwave of shadowed energy like his own Aura of the Aching Depths, and the arch-demon¡¯s voice echoed in his mind: Have patience and await my coming. I shall ascend to you when I have resolved a trifling matter.

    The contact, the demon¡¯s voice in his mind, all of it caused Harald to shudder anew. But with an answer given, he freed himself from the Seed¡¯s horrific pull and rose swiftly back to waking, his eyelids fluttering, the dank and echoing hall of the 8th Level revealing itself once more.

    ¡°And?¡± prompted Nessa sharply.

    ¡°He¡¯s coming. He¡ª¡±

    Nessa cut him off, raising her blade as she focused on the darkness beyond the nimbus of her empowered lantern light. ¡°Good. He¡¯d better hurry it up. We¡¯ve got company.¡±

 Chapter 55

    Harald instantly summoned the Goldchops. They materialized by his shoulders, and he felt the surge in vitality and strength that came with wielding them. His body felt sheathed in newfound power, his muscles growing dense and heavy yet limber at the same time, while his reserves of stamina felt suddenly bottomless.

    The +2 stat bonuses the Masterwork Artifact granted him were fantastic in and of themselves.

    Nessa carefully stepped back till she was against the wall and set her lantern upon a protruding shelf of rock. Its Golden Dawn-infused radiance cast a pure glow that filled their third of the hall; beyond, the arches faded to darkness and shapes moved, shuffling toward them.

    ¡°They don¡¯t tend to leap more than twenty yards,¡± said Nessa, tone calm. ¡°Golden lamps are usually sufficient to locate them.¡±

    ¡°Unless they¡¯re truly gargantuan,¡± said Vic, summoning the Point.

    ¡°Spread out.¡± Nessa pointed at Harald and Sam to take the flanks, Vic to remain beside her in the center. ¡°When they leap, dodge. They¡¯ll probably hit the wall and stun themselves. Then close and butcher.¡±

    Harald peered into the distant darkness. The intensity of his stare made it swarm. He could hear them, however, the rasp of their bulk being dragged across the floor, heavy, wet breathing, like that of a near-drowning victim struggling to cling to life.

    Then¡ªthere. Three shapes emerged from the darkness. One was huge, as big as a cow, while the other two were slightly smaller, mule-sized, perhaps.

    ¡°The angels wept,¡± said Sam in disgust.

    Harald empathized.

    Nothing Vic or Nessa had said had prepared him for how disgusting the Gloomies were.

    They were oval in shape, tapering toward the back, their skin oil-black and glistening under a layer of slime. Stubby vertebrae protruded down the length of their backs, and their eyes were tiny motes of burning crimson under raised eyebrow ridges. They shuffled forward on four puny legs, their sheer bulk forcing them to adopt a side-to-side wriggle as they advanced like tadpoles squirming through a muddy puddle.

    But it was their maws that nauseated. Their mouths took up the entire front of their bodies, lipless, rimmed with glassy-white teeth the length of daggers, with gums like raw meat, putrid and slavering. The dark depths of their gullets housed lascivious tongues that lolled and lapped over their fangs without care, and ropes of slobber hung glistening to splatter and leave a trail behind them.

    You could have rolled a barrel into the lead Gloomy¡¯s maw without it noticing. The entire front half was all cavernous mouth.

    ¡°They still before they leap,¡± called Nessa. ¡°The biggest one will go first, the other two right after. Don¡¯t lose track of them.¡±

    As if on cue, the huge leader stopped advancing. It wriggled back as if burrowing its ass into the ground, its great oval body shivering.

    Harald raised the Dawnblade into the Plow, hilt at his hip, and flexed his knees, ready to dive aside.

    The lead Gloomy exploded forward, its two huge hind legs propelling it through the air as if shot from a catapult. Right down the center of the hall it came, right at Nessa, who neatly glided aside.

    But the other two were doing the same now, and Harald stared, wide-eyed, at the monster that had locked its beady little eyes on him. It wriggled once, twice, then surged into the air, coming right at him.

    So fast.

    So damn fast.

    Harald leaped aside, but the Goldchops didn¡¯t care to wait.

    They flew forward to meet the incoming Gloomy, spinning so fast they blurred, and hurled themselves straight into its cavernous maw.

    ¡°Oh damn,¡± said Harald, catching sight of both hatchets bursting out the Gloomy¡¯s back even as it died midair. Its whole mass slammed into the wall where Harald had been with an awful squelching burst, and it collapsed to the ground, legs giving out, teeth raking the blocks to sag over on its side, entrails and effluvia pouring out the holes in its back.

    Harald gaped. The Goldchops, slicked in black blood, spun back into place around him, gore flying off their golden blades till they were clean once more.

    Sam had deflected her own assailant with her kite shield, then rammed it in the flank with the Thornguard, such that huge, wickedly thorned vines had grappled the Gloomy and tied it down as she stabbed it again and again in the flank.

    Nessa and Vic had made similarly short work of the huge leader, puncturing its hide a half-dozen times each before it could turn and assail them.

    And just like that it was over.

    Harald glanced at his Goldchops in wonder. Was that a sense of contentment that came from them?

    Seven Copper Moons appeared beside his gutted foe. He cupped them out of the air and walked around the dead monsters to the others.

    ¡°All right, Harry?¡± asked Vic, allowing the Point to disappear.

    ¡°Pretty good, Vic.¡±

    ¡°Sam?¡± Nessa looked to where the Netherwarden Knight was still stabbing her foe, its whole bulk quivering and shaking until at last a blow between the eyes killed it.

    Sam blew a lock of golden hair out of her face, flustered, and flashed a smile. ¡°All good.¡±

    Harald dismissed the Goldchops. ¡°I barely did anything. My Artifact killed the monster mid-flight.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s a danger to that,¡± said Nessa, wiping her blade clean even as Vic collected Copper Moons. ¡°You won¡¯t level nearly as quickly if your Artifact does all the work.¡±

    ¡°We won¡¯t?¡± Sam stepped up, eyes wide. ¡°But then¡­? Should we not use them?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s always a trade-off,¡± said Nessa, reaching for her blazing lantern. ¡°Safety and scales versus class advancement.¡±

    ¡°Seraphine¡ªyes, I know I¡¯m a little obsessed¡ªis said to have only used a plain steel blade for her first twenty-six or so levels.¡± Vic shook his head in admiration. ¡°It¡¯s said that¡¯s why she advanced so quickly. No companions, no Artifacts, no Servitors. Just guts and beauty.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t mention guts,¡± said Sam, wrinkling her nose at the stench coming off the dead Gloomies.

    ¡°Let¡¯s relocate,¡± agreed Nessa, leading them back down the hall. ¡°Harald, you¡¯re in a particularly tricky spot. A Masterwork Artifact will stop your class advancement cold. You should leave your Goldchop unsummoned unless your life is on the line.¡±

    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

    ¡°Hard to tell until it¡¯s too late,¡± he complained. ¡°They take a few seconds to materialize. If I wait, I could be screwed.¡±

    ¡°Such is the life of a raider.¡± Nessa cast around, peering into the side tunnels as they returned to the Portal. ¡°So what did your demon say?¡±

    ¡°He was pretty terse. Told me to wait, that he was coming.¡±

    ¡°Did he say how long?¡± asked Vic. ¡°This fetid air is terrible for my hair.¡±

    ¡°Why did you take up raiding again?¡± asked Sam.

    ¡°It drives the whores out of their minds to know I could die at any moment,¡± said Vic with a smile. ¡°There¡¯s something tragic and romantic about a raider that no other occupation can compare.¡±

    Sam leveled a flat stare at him. ¡°All this to impress the women at the Kitty Kat Club.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t disparage the KKC,¡± said Vic, raising a finger. ¡°Not at least till you¡¯ve been there yourself. There¡¯s no finer den of iniquity and rarefied sin in all of Flutic. None that I can afford, at any rate.¡±

    Nessa sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. ¡°Vic?¡±

    ¡°She impugned the honor of my home away from home,¡± he sniffed. ¡°You can¡¯t expect me to remain silent.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re right. Now or any other time. So. Harald.¡± Nessa considered him. ¡°Shall we wait for Vorakhar here, or go hunting?¡±

    ¡°Hunting,¡± said Sam. ¡°Seeing as we¡¯re in the dungeon, we might as well make the most of it, right?¡±

    ¡°Sure,¡± agreed Harald. ¡°And I want to get some work done without the Goldchops.¡±

    ¡°Hunting it is,¡± said Nessa. ¡°The tunnels are narrow. Bunching up only works in the Gloom Maws¡ª¡±

    ¡°Gloomies,¡± muttered Vic.

    ¡°¡ªfavor. So I¡¯ll go first. The rest of you follow at a distance of some ten yards. If I¡¯m jumped, I¡¯ll evade, and you all kill the first attacker while I deal with the rest.¡±

    Sam hunched her shoulders. ¡°You sure? Raiding wisdom is to never split the party.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s an exception to every rule.¡± Nessa clipped her lantern to her belt. ¡°Ready? Then follow me.¡±

    She picked the closest tunnel. It was circular, the floor puddled with filth, the ceiling barely above their heads. Vic paused as Nessa passed in, and after she¡¯d gone a distance he nodded and led Harald and Sam inside.

    It was immediately claustrophobic, in large part because it was too easy to imagine a Gloomy bowling into their midst without their having room to dodge. Their footsteps echoed and plashed, the dismal clank of chains alternated with the loud sound of distinct water drops, and the tunnel itself wound back and forth as if its designers had changed their mind every thirty seconds about where to go.

    Harald crept along, Dawnblade at the ready, watching for glimpses of Nessa whenever the tunnel straightened sufficiently. Half the time they followed her radiance, the curvature of the tunnel keeping her from view.

    Vic walked along as if in the park, swishing the Point through the air like a conductor¡¯s baton, whistling under his breath. He glanced back abruptly. ¡°Sam, may I ask you an extremely personal and possibly vulgar question?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± said Sam immediately.

    ¡°Hmm.¡± Vic frowned, shrugged, and kept walking. ¡°How about an innocuous and deceptively polite one?¡±

    Sam sighed. ¡°What is it, Vic?¡±

    ¡°If an invitation were to be extended to your person, say, by a friend who has been rendered disconsolate by your apparent utter lack of culture and adventure, would you be interested, or at the very least, intrigued, by the possibility of visiting the venerable and stately establishment known as the Kitty Kat Club?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± said Sam flatly.

    ¡°But what even are you saying ¡®no¡¯ to?¡± Vic dropped back to walk alongside her. ¡°You¡¯re rejecting the phantasms that in your ignorance you¡¯ve conjured to populate a place you think to be even worse than this dungeon. Did you know that the KKC serves the best ginger tea outside the Jade Empire.¡±

    Sam looked to Harald. ¡°Make him stop. We¡¯re supposed to be raiding.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s true,¡± insisted Vic. ¡°Mai Ling performs this delightful tea ceremony with a dozen little cups and a beautiful porcelain teapot in a manner she claims is of the utmost fidelity to the royal ceremonies of the Jade Palace, though, between you and me, she¡¯s second generation at best, and her mother¡ª¡±

    Sam summoned her Shield of Valor between them. ¡°Keep it up, and I¡¯ll hit you with the Thornguard next.¡±

    ¡°How rude!¡± Vic rose to his tiptoes to peer at Harald. ¡°Once a Majordomo, always¡ª¡±

    ¡°Vic.¡± Harald shook his head.

    Vic sighed and sank back out of view. ¡°Honestly. You¡¯d think I¡¯m the only hedonistic libertine in the group¡ª¡±

    ¡°Incoming!¡± barked Nessa, her voice echoing sharply around the curve.

    A giant Gloomie burst into view, hitting the tunnel¡¯s curve and rolling along it, maw whipping around as its legs paddled the air to come crashing to the ground before them, still spinning and scrabbling for purchase.

    Vic leveled the Point and extended its gleaming length between the Gloomy¡¯s eyes, killing it neatly. The Gloomy collapsed in the process of rising and turning, its flank sagging under its own weight.

    ¡°There are benefits to an open mind,¡± continued Vic, skirting the dead monster as if nothing had happened. ¡°Being human, being alive is a profoundly physical experience, so why should we deny ourselves the enjoyment of our bodies?¡±

    A rasping roar from ahead caused the air to shudder, and then a second Gloomy barreled into view, smaller and rolling along the inside sweep of the tunnel like the first.

    Vic raised the Point and caused it to extend rapidly three times before the monster hit the ground, puncturing its face and brow with each attack. The monster collapsed upon the floor and rolled up to fetch against the first dead Gloomy, where it shuddered and lay still.

    ¡°Personally, I blame the Seraphites,¡± continued Vic. ¡°Their doctrine of Emulation, where we¡¯re all supposed to pretend to be spiritual beings like the Fallen Angel is rank nonsense, if you ask me. I am all too solid flesh, darlings, and desire is not weakness, it¡¯s proof that we¡¯re alive.¡±

    ¡°Vic, please,¡± pleaded Sam. ¡°Nessa¡¯s fighting right now.¡±

    ¡°I know,¡± said Vic, expression confused. ¡°I can hear her, too. She¡¯s fine. I¡¯m pretty sure. You think a Gloomy is going to inconvenience our Delve Captain?¡±

    The sounds of roaring reverberated from just out of view.

    ¡°Oh, fuck this,¡± snapped Sam, and pushed past Vic to run around the corner.

    ¡°Yes!¡± Vic spread his arms. ¡°Precisely! That¡¯s what we should all be doing, as often as we can! Fucking this, that, anything and everything that catches our eye¡ª¡±

    Harald leaped over the smaller Gloomy and took off after Sam. The radiance of her lamp was muted due to its lying on its side in a puddle, causing the entire spillage of wastewater to light up like a purple portal to another realm.

    Harald ran into Sam, who¡¯d come to an abrupt top.

    He could see why.

    Nessa was backing away from the remaining Gloomy.

    A Gloomy so vast it filled the entirety of the tunnel. It struggled to reach her, wrenching itself forward jerk by jerk, little forelegs scrabbling at the ground.

    It was as if the tunnel itself had developed a raw, rotten mouth, teeth as big as short swords gleaming as it gnashed and chomped at the air, its black, serpentine tongue lashing out and flopping around like a half-drowned drunkard.

    ¡°Harald,¡± snapped Nessa. ¡°Time for the Goldchops. I¡¯ve already thrown my Phaseblades to no avail.¡±

    ¡°On it,¡± he said, and the twin golden hatchets appeared beside him. The problem facing Nessa was evident; to stab at anything vital, she¡¯d have to lunge nearly into the monster¡¯s mouth. Harald thought he could see her three Artifact daggers embedded in the depths of its gullet.

    ¡°Oh,¡± said Vic, rounding the curve. ¡°Now that¡¯s something you don¡¯t see everyday.¡±

    The Goldchops began to spin as if ramping themselves up, faster and faster, and then when Harald urged them on they flew into the huge Gloomy¡¯s mouth. They punched clear out the back, disappearing, and then exploded back into its mouth, only to reverse course and fly up into the top, burrowing into its head and threshing its brains from within.

    Great splatters of black blood flew out of the Gloomy¡¯s mouth as it died, gnashing its huge maw and sagging down so that a foot of space appeared between it and the tunnel ceiling.

    Vic did a slow clap.

    ¡°Urgh,¡± said Sam, looking down at where the tarry blood had splashed across her front. ¡°Great.¡±

    The Goldchops emerged a second later, spun all the blood free, then disappeared.

    Two Silver Starbursts appeared in the air before the dead Gloomy, who exhaled noisily one last time, filling the tunnel with such a rank and disgusting stench that Harald felt his gorge rise.

    ¡°Well, that¡¯s it for me, I¡¯m done,¡± said Vic, turning to run back the way they¡¯d come, face buried in the crook of his elbow.

    Nessa snatched up the two Silvers and gestured for everyone to retreat.

    They jogged back till the stench lessened, and then slowed to a walk.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± began Sam, ¡°but the Goldchop is just ridiculous. We should just send Harald down here to clean up the whole level and collect scales while we bathe and rest.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re Masterwork,¡± said Nessa. ¡°That means they¡¯re viable even as far down as the 60th Level. Here on the 8th?¡± She shrugged one shoulder. ¡°Overkill.¡±

    ¡°Hey,¡± said Sam. ¡°Do you think he¡¯ll be allowed to use them against Yeoric?¡±

    ¡°Hardly,¡± smiled Nessa. ¡°Duels usually forbid Artifacts and Servitors.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s right,¡± said Harald. ¡°All the more reason for me to train without relying on the Goldchops.¡±

    ¡°Yeoric was what, Level 3?¡± Sam shook her head. ¡°And had only Ascended to the Throne of Harmony? At this rate he¡¯ll barely register as a challenge by the time you fight him.¡±

    ¡°When is that again?¡± asked Nessa.

    Harald went to answer, but paused as he noted a new sensation. It came from the matter-of-fact camaraderie they were sharing, the shop talk, especially following their slaughter of that humungous Gloomy with a Masterwork Artifact.

    This was it.

    This was what he¡¯d always dreamed of doing.

    Raiding the dungeon with his own crew, armed with weapons of might and wonder, and fitting in, being a necessary part of it all.

    He was doing it.

    Raiding.

    Restraining his smile, he focused on the question at hand. ¡°Five weeks left, I believe.¡±

    Nessa scoffed. ¡°Poor Yeoric. I almost pity him.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s still ahead of me,¡± protested Harald. ¡°Three Actives, two Passives, similar physical stats.¡±

    ¡°But you¡¯ve got two Ascended Thrones,¡± replied Sam. ¡°And at the rate you¡¯re growing, you¡¯ll have far outstripped him by the time of the duel.¡±

    ¡°Only if I keep training and fighting,¡± said Harald. ¡°Which means not summoning the Goldchop unless my life depends on it.¡±

    ¡°Alas,¡± said Nessa.

    ¡°Alas,¡± agreed Harald. ¡°Speaking of which, let¡¯s find more monsters to kill.¡±

    ¡°Darlings?¡± Vic¡¯s voice from up ahead had a note of fear to it, taut and tense.

    ¡°Fuck,¡± hissed Nessa, breaking into a run.

    A moment later they burst into the main hall, where Vic had backed up to meet them.

    Beside their own Portal, its archway dormant as ever, stood a second.

    An oval of black swirling energy shot through with flashes of purple fire.

    ¡°Looks like your patron is finally sending for you,¡± said Vic. ¡°Can¡¯t say I blame him. How must it look to his siblings if he comes every time you crook your finger?¡±

    ¡°Damn it,¡± said Sam. ¡°You can¡¯t know where it goes. Or that it¡¯s necessarily even his.¡±

    ¡°It looks the same,¡± said Harald, moving forward cautiously. ¡°And I did just contact him. And it feels¡­¡± He extended a hand as if gauging the warmth of a fire. The black portal radiated a familiar energy, reminding him of the Aura of the Aching Depths, but not quite. It was the darkness that infused the Depths, he realized. The corruption of the Demon Seed. ¡°It¡¯s his.¡±

    ¡°What do we do?¡± Nessa clipped her lantern to her belt. ¡°Do we all go in?¡±

    Even her making the suggestion warmed Harald¡¯s heart more than he could express. ¡°No. The less you all are exposed to him the better.¡± He glanced at Sam, recalling how the demon had attacked her very being with such casual, cruel words. ¡°I¡¯ll go alone. When I¡¯m done speaking with him, I¡¯ll return.¡±

    ¡°You sound so confident, darling.¡± Vic licked his lower lip, clearly still unnerved. ¡°Don¡¯t get cocky, now.¡±

    ¡°What choice do I have?¡± Harald drew himself up, dismissing the Dawnblade as he did so. ¡°I¡¯ll be back as quickly as I can. If you grow tired of waiting, leave¡­ I don¡¯t know, an unlit lantern by the base of our Portal. I¡¯ll come right out if so.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll wait,¡± said Nessa decisively, still staring at the black oval crackling with purple fire. A fine sheen of sweat had broken out across her brow. ¡°Don¡¯t agree to anything stupid.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± said Sam. ¡°Ask for time to think on whatever offer he makes you.¡±

    ¡°This isn¡¯t Master Ling he¡¯s treating with,¡± snapped Vic. ¡°It¡¯s an arch-demon. Just pray he returns in one piece.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll be fine.¡± Harald stepped forward. His heart was pounding, his mouth dry, but part of him, a subtle, hidden aspect of his being, yearned to pass into whatever lay beyond. To see where it would take him. ¡°I¡¯ll be back as soon as I can.¡±

    Sam stepped up alongside him, squeezed his arm, then leaned in to peck his cheek. ¡°Good luck, Harald.¡±

    He smiled at her. ¡°Thanks.¡±

    Then, before anyone else could say anything, he took a deep breath and strode into the demon¡¯s portal.

 Chapter 56

    Harald emerged into a natural cavern that had been partially converted into a domicile. Pale diamond light filtered down from several large vents in the ceiling, and from the largest a constant plume of water fell, bracketed by hanging vines. Where the walls and ceiling remained rough and unfinished, the floor was laid smooth by wet obsidian tiles that radiated out concentrically from a raised fire pit; curlicues of vivid orange flames leaped from its broad disc of coals.

    Free standing pedestals against the walls sported elegant candelabra, while chairs were gathered around the occasional low table here and there, as if in anticipation of passing visitors. A stone bar closed off a corner of the cavern, stools set before it, while chandeliers hung within two large archways, illuminating deeper caverns that were off shoots of the main one.

    The combined effect was one of savage opulence, impossible elegance, of ineffable wealth and power. The rawness of the cavern contrasted with the tasteful decor; the falling waterfall mirrored the complex elegance of the chandeliers, and the broad steps rising to each of the broad archways spoke to splendors hidden deeper within the complex.

    Vorakhar emerged from the largest archway, clad as always in his sophisticated couture, a black coat draped over his shoulders, an ivory blouse cuffed at the wrists with gold. He descended the three steps lightly to stride toward Harald, his eyes burning with purple and black flames.

    Harald. You¡¯ve Ascended to your second Throne. How fitting.

    ¡°The Throne of Shadows,¡± agreed Harald, throat trying to knot up with fear. ¡°Fitting because you¡¯ve claimed it?¡±

    Vorakhar walked past him to stop before the raised fire pit. It was a huge disc of black stone, its curved side intricately carved with enigmatic glyphs and patterns, a series of raised circles culminating in the circle of coals. And how did you come to learn such a thing?

    ¡°My father.¡±

    But of course. The demon smiled, a private, cruel expression that was gone as soon as it came. Darius, Darius, Darius. What a wretched man.

    Harald moved warily to stand beside the demon. ¡°What does it mean, for you to have claimed the second Throne?¡±

    Precisely that; I have stretched forth my hand and claimed it.

    Harald hesitated, unsure if he should press the matter, but Vorakhar glanced sidelong at him amused.

    You possess a simulacrum of the Fallen Angel within your Cosmos, do you not? That which was awoken when you consumed a modicum of her own power?

    ¡°Yes,¡± whispered Harald.

    And is it the Fallen Angel herself that you possess?

    ¡°No, it¡¯s a copy. My own version of her.¡±

    Wrong. It is her in truth, a mirrored reflection, distantly perceived. But just as she is mirrored in your Cosmos, so are her Thrones mirrored there, too.

    Harald frowned. ¡°So they exist in the dungeon? The Throne of Harmony, the Throne of Shadows¡­?¡±

    Vorakhar extended his palms to the flames, which seemed to rise excitedly in response. Use what native wit you possess, Darrowdelve.

    ¡°Then if you¡¯ve claimed the real Throne of Shadows¡­? Does that mean every reflection of it in each person¡¯s Cosmos is¡­ yours?¡±

    I didn¡¯t bring you here to discuss metaphysics. You spoke of meddling. Cut to the chase.

    ¡°I¡ªyes.¡± Harald dry swallowed, unnerved by the demon¡¯s sudden change in tone. ¡°House Thornvale approached me. Thracos. One of its Silver-ranked raiders. He seemed to recognize in me your patronage and said that if I didn¡¯t swear myself to House Thornvale, he¡¯d expose and ruin me.¡±

    Then swear yourself to House Thornvale.

    ¡°But his ability to detect my Demon Seed indicates that he¡¯s similarly touched, doesn¡¯t it? That one of your siblings oversees that House?¡±

    Vorakhar grinned, revealing fanged teeth. Why do you presume it¡¯s not mine?

    Harald blinked. ¡°He said ¡®my¡¯ patron, as if it weren¡¯t his own.¡±

    Very well, I concede the point. House Thornvale belongs to my eldest brother, Silenthros.

    Harald thought on his father¡¯s letter: The most dangerous of them is the eldest brother, Silenthros.

    ¡°And¡­ Silenthros desires my service?¡±

    Vorakhar let loose a sharp bark of laughter. Don¡¯t flatter yourself, Harald. I doubt my brother knows nor cares of your existence. His agents act, desperately hoping to please him. But I do care about you. At this Vorakhar reached out to trace Harald¡¯s cheek with a talon. If Silenthros studied you closely enough, assuredly he¡¯d recognize your potential. But he¡¯s too preoccupied with his victories and own pursuits. So I shall intervene, and ask that he call off his hounds.

    ¡°Oh.¡± Harald fought the urge to step away from the demon¡¯s touch. ¡°So¡­ that¡¯s that, then?¡±

    Hardly. My request shall indicate a need for him to exploit, a weakness for him to pursue. He shant simply accede. No. Vorakhar turned back to the fire. He shall meet my request with one of his own to gauge my desperation. In this case it is slight. Once he has ascertained the tenor of my need, he shall modulate his riposte, and I shall determine if I wish to pay it.

    ¡°Oh,¡± said Harald, trying desperately to keep track of the demon¡¯s meaning. There was something about his silken voice, the power that reverberated within its depths, that made it mesmerizing and hard to follow. ¡°I see.¡±

    No. You don¡¯t.

    Vorakhar turned from the fire pit and retraced his steps across the cavern, climbing the three steps to pass through the massive archway into the room beyond.

    Harald followed.

    The next cavern proved to be a shadowed study, a broad and stately desk standing in splendid isolation to one side, dwarfed by the scale of the chamber. A mosaic glittered upon the far wall, depicting the Fallen Angel bound and in shackles, kneeling before Vorakhar who was portrayed with such demonic power that he appeared more an elemental force of might and dark majesty than the figure before Harald now.

    Vorakhar moved around his desk to sit, leaning back to cross his ankles upon the desk. A desk that was bare of everything but for an inkwell, a feathered plume, and a neat stack of blank papers.

    Harald drifted closer, unsure of himself.

    Vorakhar eyed him like a cat might a dazed mouse.

    You are an investment, Harald. Your value determines the lengths to which I shall go to protect you. Two Thrones, one level, and a Masterwork Artifact. A start, I suppose, but hardly anything astonishing.

    ¡°I¡¯ve had but a few weeks.¡±

    Vorakhar¡¯s explosion was shocking in its violence. He jackknifed forward to slam his fist into the table with such force that it sounded like a boulder shattering. You think I care for your pathetic excuses? I have gifted you with glory made manifest and what have you done with it? Inherited your father¡¯s baubles and played at swords?

    Harald¡¯s throat clammed shut. His every instinct told him to flee, but he held firm.

    Vorakhar¡¯s gaze was so intense that purple flames danced across the back wall and burned Harald¡¯s chest where they washed over him.

    Finally he seemed to relent. He relaxed, his expression becoming amused once more. A start, as I said. But what have you done to truly push yourself?

    ¡°My stats. They¡¯ve risen to 11, 10, 12 in just over a month.¡±

    Pah.

    ¡°I¡¯ve formed a new crew. I¡¯ve¡­¡± Harald caught himself. Why was he beseeching in this manner? Did he crave Vorakhar¡¯s approval?

    Harald squared his shoulders, raised his chin, and met Vorakhar¡¯s gaze full on. ¡°Stop fucking with me.¡±

    The demon smiled. Oh, so he has some backbone after all. Good. But that doesn¡¯t change my point. I shall extend myself as far as you prove worthy. But perhaps you¡¯re in need of a little push. So. I shall speak with dear Silenthros and ask that he curb his wretched hounds. You, in turn, shall gain a level before you quit the dungeons today.

    ¡°Fine,¡± said Harald. ¡°I¡¯ll do what I can.¡±

    As will I. A push, I said. A gift. Make it happen, Harald.

    And Vorakhar snapped his taloned fingers.

    A portal of black fire appeared behind Harald, but even as he turned to glance at it a great wind blasted him off his feet and hurled him into the swirling darkness.

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    In a moment the chamber, the table, the demon were gone, and instead he fell upon a new floor, slid, and came to a stop in the center of a vast, alien chamber that he¡¯d never seen before.

    A gift, came Vorakhar¡¯s voice. Level 27. Hidden somewhere within its expanse is a portal that shall take you back to the 8th. But it will only appear once you¡¯ve gained a level of your own. Get to it, human.

    And the demon¡¯s presence was gone from his mind.

    Harald scrambled up to all fours then into a crouch, summoning the Dawnblade and the Goldchops both as he darted looks all around himself.

    Everything was aged and worn, everything made from gray stone that had rusted like iron. Great patches of orange were smeared across the floor, along the encircling balconies, upon the flagstones.

    The chamber itself was as big as a ballroom and some twenty yards in height. Everything was built on a brutal scale, devoid of ornament or charm. Three rows of balconies encircled the ground floor, each supported by massive pillars, each boasting dozens of alcoves that could have been the mouths of tunnels.

    A recessed square of slightly darker stone dominated the center of the chamber, and in its center rose a badly weathered statue of an angel. Harald scuttled over to this and crouched by its side, heart pounding, trying to find a source of danger.

    There was no movement.

    Everything was eerily still and silent.

    A pair of steep staircases flanked a small door that glowed orange from some inner light. The stairs led up past a giant blackened stone cog that was laid face down just before the first walkway, part of some mechanism, perhaps, whose function Harald couldn¡¯t devise. There were no obvious means to reach the third story, which boasted the largest alcoves and widest pillars.

    His breath seemed to echo loudly in the empty chamber, and he forced himself to breathe deeply, to ease up.

    The Goldchops hovered by his shoulders, their golden heads sleek and sharp. The Dawnblade gleamed green in his hand.

    He wasn¡¯t defenseless.

    Hand on the eroded angel statue, Harald tried to recall something about the 27th Level. Would that Sam with her encyclopedic knowledge were with him! Sam and Nessa and Vic.

    No. Best that they weren¡¯t.

    Not even Nessa and Vic dared enter the levels below the 20th.

    Fuck.

    Harald turned in a slow circle, again searching for some threat. Could he beseech a reprieve from Vorakhar? Obviously not. This was a test. For him to prove his worth. If he could escape from this floor, he¡¯d obviously merit the demon¡¯s intervention.

    Which meant Vorakhar wasn¡¯t going to bother speaking with his brother till he did.

    ¡°All right,¡± he whispered. ¡°OK. Let¡¯s work this out.¡±

    His little inspirational speech completed, he took one last glance around and then darted toward the closest wall with its pillars and covered walkway. He crouched down in the shadows, heart hammering as if he¡¯d run a mile, and again he peered around, trying to see if he¡¯d alerted something.

    Anything.

    But nothing moved.

    The silence and stillness were almost worse than seeing a monster.

    Almost.

    Which way to go? There were easily a score of alcoves running around the perimeter of the ground floor. All were dark. Harald tapped his scale-lantern, reassuring himself that it was there.

    Or he could approach that orange-burning doorway, suspiciously small and flanked between the two steep staircases.

    Something important had to lie within. The doorway led directly into a room beneath that huge cogwheel. Perhaps some operating levers or means of turning the cog?

    But no. He was a Level 1 Abyssal Initiate. He had no business going into important-looking rooms on the 27th Level.

    He¡¯d play it safe for now, do some reconnaissance, see what he was up against.

    So thinking, he crept toward the closest alcove, which indeed proved to be the mouth of a tunnel. The air was stale and had a harsh, rusted scent to it, like sun heated metal.

    Was lighting his lantern a bad idea? Wouldn¡¯t that just alert the enemies to his presence? Then again, was anything worse than stumbling forward blind?

    Harald blew out a slow, silent breath, and closed his eyes.

    The urge to panic was strong. To second-guess himself, to review every option until he was paralyzed by indecision.

    He took a moment to center himself. The fear, the panic, the nerves¡ªthey all slowly settled, and when he opened his eyes again, he felt clear-minded and in control once more.

    The Fallen Angel bless his Ego 23.

    This was going to be brutally hard, but Vorakhar wouldn¡¯t have sent him here if he didn¡¯t think he could survive.

    Not only that, but Nessa had stated that the Goldchop was a viable weapon all the way down to the 60¡¯s.

    Harald glanced at the heavy-headed hatchets and took immeasurable comfort from their presence. They bobbed gently beside him, as if floating on invisible currents. Quiescent and lethal, but ready to spin into action at a moment¡¯s notice.

    He could do this.

    Harald turned the dial at the base of his lantern so that the faintest of glows shone from through the glass and stepped quietly up to the tunnel mouth. There, he listened.

    Silence.

    Dawnblade held at the ready, his Aura of the Aching Depths just barely suppressed, he slipped into the tunnel and advanced.

    The walls were rough and granular like sandstone, but well-shaped and precise. The dim glow revealed only a few yards ahead of him, so Harald moved slowly, listening intently and pausing every few steps to make sure he wasn¡¯t missing anything.

    Light slowly manifested ahead, a washed-out orange hue, along with faint scrabbling sounds.

    Life.

    Or monsters, at any rate.

    Harald took a moment to collect himself, focusing on his breathing, then killed his lamp and resumed creeping forward, the fingers of his left hand tracing the hallway wall.

    A rectangle of dim light appeared ahead.

    He reached it and made out a large room beyond. No galleries, no balconies, just a stained dome that rose a good dozen yards above the ground.

    A bathing chamber of some kind, because the room was dominated by a sunken square into which short flights of steps descended. The water was long gone, leaving behind only large cracked tiles of glazed orange. A small basin in the center sported the remnants of what might have been a fountain. Stone benches were sunken into the square¡¯s rim, where bathers might once have sat, partially submerged.

    A handful of narrow dark doorways led off into the depths. Slender columns rose from the edge of the bathing pool to support the base of the dome. All was stained and old like the first grand chamber, rusted and decayed.

    But Harald stared at a hunched over figure that was excavating the far side of the pool with its taloned hands.

    Enshrouded with a dun-colored robe made from dozens of torn fragments, it stood with its back to Harald, busily at work levering flagstones up and away with unnatural strength. Hunched and cowled as it was Harald had trouble determining its true height¡ªabout that of a tall person, perhaps? But it moved with inhuman, jerky strength, and Harald was certain, right to the marrow of his bones, that this was a denizen of the 27th Level.

    It hadn¡¯t noticed him yet, being fully fixated on its project. But though it had a passing resemblance to the Crypt Keepers of the 10th, Harald knew this was something far more formidable.

    For a moment he hesitated, sucking on his teeth, but this was as opportune a moment as any. It was distracted and had its back to him.

    Time to strike.

    With a silent command, he sent the Goldchops flying forth and raced silently after them.

    The golden hatches blurred forward, but the very sound of their approach must have alerted the monster; it froze briefly, tensing, and then vanished.

    Harald staggered to a stop as the hatchets flew through where it had been a second ago, but both immediately veered together to the right, leading him to glance that way.

    There. Behind one of the slender pillars. The cloaked and hunched creature leaned out, staring at him.

    Harald saw its face.

    It wore a wooden mask. It looked to have been carved from a single piece of driftwood, broad and bulbous at the brow, then quickly tapering to a beak of intertwined roots. Twin slender eyes of burning red were buried within knotholes, and the visage was so alien, so bird-like, so fey, that Harald momentarily froze up.

    The Goldchops didn¡¯t hesitate but whipped around the column.

    The monster vanished again, but this time, when it appeared on the bathing chamber¡¯s far side, it attacked.

    That¡¯s at least what Harald presumed was happening when his head exploded in a flash of cataclysmic pain.

    He gasped, reeled, clutched at his scalp. There was no blood, no wound. Instead, it felt as if the cloaked creature were trying to pry his actual thoughts open with spiritual claws, ripping his mind asunder.

    The Goldchops flew across the bathing chamber again, and once more the creature vanished.

    The second it disappeared the pain went with it.

    Thank the angels. That meant it couldn¡¯t keep up its¡ª

    Renewed agony. Harald cried out and clutched at his temples, almost dropping the Dawnblade.

    The fiend was trying to burst him open. Its will bent upon him, tried to dominate him, to blast open the doors of his memories, his very being.

    But Harald possessed Ego 23.

    With a rough, raw bark of effort, he hurled the creature¡¯s mind away from his own, and he saw the cloaked being stagger against the far wall.

    It was just enough of a distraction for the Goldchops to hit home. Both slammed into its spindly chest with devastating force.

    But instead of dying, it vanished again, leaving the Goldchops to sag momentarily. But this time it appeared directly before Harald, the front of its hempen robes soaking with black blood.

    It drew a large, clawed hand back, each finger splayed out so wide it could have closed them around Harald¡¯s head with ease, but instinct kicked in, and Harald thrust the Dawnblade forward as he activated Abyssal Attunement, its soapstone length turning jet black just before it punched home.

    The Dawnblade was met with little resistance at first then stopped abruptly. It felt like stabbing a basket filled with loose rocks.

    The creature hissed and swiped, but even as Harald wrenched his blade free, trails of the abyss spreading through its chest, the Goldchops slammed home into its back.

    The creature¡¯s crimson eyes flared brightly once, and then it fell upon Harald¡¯s blade. He turned as he sidestepped, so that it crashed to the ground before him, hatches buried deep, and then it lay still.

    ¡°Fuck,¡± Harald whispered, raising a hand to his brow. What even was that attack? What would it have done to someone like Sam whose Ego was far lower?

    To be certain, Harald stabbed the Dawnblade into the back of the monster¡¯s head. His mouth twisted in distaste, but the creature didn¡¯t move.

    Five Golden Dawns appeared in the air above it.

    ¡°Well all right,¡± said Harald, scooping them up.

    Then he gingerly pushed at its side, flipping it over.

    Its masked head lolled from side to side as it rolled onto its back, the Goldchops disappearing. The crimson eyes were black beads now. Thick tarry blood had ceased to flow from the wounds in its chest.

    Curious, glancing at the other exits, Harald used the tip of the Dawnblade to push the cowl back, intent on removing the mask, only to realize there was no mask. Its head was a knot of roots from which the smooth beaked visage grew.

    ¡°Weird,¡± he whispered, scrutinizing it. A scarecrow of some kind? A woodland golem? He¡¯d no idea.

    It was clearly smarter than the enemies he¡¯d fought on the Iron levels. Proof of that was the pouch tied to its rope belt.

    Still wary, Harald crouched and poked the belt. He knew that shifting resistance anywhere.

    Scales.

    With a swift cut he severed the pouch from the belt and opened it. A mess of Golden Dawns and a few Aurora Veils shifted within, giving off gentle glowing light.

    ¡°Damn.¡± There had to be some four, maybe five thousand scales¡¯ worth of loot within. Curious, he rose and stepped down into the sunken pool, crossing the glazed orange tiles through the jaundiced light to where the fiend had been laboring.

    It had torn up several of the large flagstones to reveal a mostly depleted cache of scales.

    It was the first actual cache he¡¯d ever seen, despite hearing about them all his life. Under the flagstones was a small cavity, a thin filament of blue-white energy belonging to the Fallen Angel¡¯s armature curving up like a fishbone, and hanging off it like leaves from a bare branch were a handful of Golden Dawns.

    ¡°The angels wept,¡± said Harald is disbelief. He set the Dawnblade close at hand and quickly plucked the remaining scales from the armature, which, once denuded, began to fade.

    He dropped them into the fiend¡¯s rough pouch, and this he tucked inside his tunic, where it sat, fat and heavy and welcome. This many scales were valuable, true, but could also help heal him if the next battle went badly.

    ¡°Well damn.¡± Harald took up the Dawnblade and glanced back at the dead monster. For all the scales he¡¯d gained, the Goldchops had still been instrumental in defeating it. Which meant if he was to get out of this level, he had to try and kill the next one with just his blade.

    A tall order.

    The scarecrow could teleport short distances, immobilize him with mental attacks, and given its obvious strength, probably tear his head off with one blow.

    Harald tongued his cheek.

    He had no choice.

    It¡¯d avail him nothing to continue collecting Golden Dawns with the help of his Masterwork Artifact.

    He was going to have to do this the hard way.

 Chapter 57

    Harald prowled the 27th Level.

    He did so carefully, cautiously, quietly. At times, when forced to, he lit his scale-lantern, keeping the Copper light at its lowest ebb. He moved slowly down dark corridors, trying to divine their logic as they twisted or turned abruptly. Sometimes he stumbled upon staircases descending precipitously to new depths, or climbing steeply to narrow walkways that skirted the faces of actual chasms.

    These voids were only briefly visited; never did a walkway follow their length for long, always turning back to dive into the bedrock after only a few dozen yards.

    Occasionally Harald found windows in small rooms off the corridors that looked out into these chasms as well. Or perhaps they were all the same chasm, approached at different heights and angles? Nothing moved within its dark depths, however. No coils, no great winged shapes.

    Everything had an air of abandon and decay. Stone crumbled under his touch. Ledges were precarious, prone to cracking. Some hub chambers were barely navigable, filled in by collapsed walls and ceilings. Others were even more arresting for hinting at being used in the distant past.

    Harald lost track of time.

    He felt himself a ghost, haunting the denizens of the 27th. Early on he came across two of the scarecrows, both hunched together at the base of a fountain, excavating its roots and no doubt uncovering scales.

    Two was too much, so he beat a quiet retreat.

    A span of time passed without his finding anyone else, but slowly the conviction grew that he was being tracked.

    It was nothing definite. Nothing so obvious as catching sight of a pursuer. But his instincts warned him that the darkness beyond his lantern light was no longer empty.

    Not a scarecrow, he guessed. Something told him that wasn¡¯t their nature, to simply follow him through this barren maze. They were more likely to assault his mind, impatient to crack his consciousness like a nut.

    No, this felt like something primal, a predator, a beast of some kind.

    Something waiting for him to let his guard down.

    The moment it appeared, Harald decided, he¡¯d summon the Goldchops.

    Finally he found opportune prey in a dismal and alarming hub chamber. He¡¯d come to name all large nexuses of corridors as hubs; they often had eight or more tunnels opening up on several levels, and felt grandiose and massive after the cramped nature of the corridors.

    This one had been a jail.

    Harald couldn¡¯t determine any other purpose for the barred stone alcoves that ringed its first and second floors. Horizontal bars of rusted iron looked permanently buried into the rectangular door frames, beyond which were a square yard of space, little more than an empty closet. Most of the bars yet stood firm, but a handful of them had rusted so badly as to fall apart.

    None of these cells had occupants.

    Why then had they been barred?

    The chamber itself was on the smaller end of the hub scale; rectangular as always, but maybe six yards wide, some fifteen deep. Almost the size of a large room one might find in a manor house.

    Were it not for the jail cells, that was, or the crude second floor walkway with no railing. Blooms of orange rust covered the gray walls. The air tasted of dust.

    The scarecrow crouched at one end of the hall, its tattered robes obscuring its body, its head bent as if in contemplation, its clawed hands hidden within its sleeves. What made this disconcerting was the faded crimson armchair right beside it; though covered in dust and mold, it still seemed perfectly serviceable.

    Yet the scarecrow stared at the flagstone before it, one as common as any other, and even as Harald watched it, reached out to tap the stone with one claw before returning its hand to its sleeves to become immobile once more.

    Fucking weird.

    Still. Harald was on the second floor. He could creep out, sneak along the short end of the hall, then drop upon it from above, Dawnblade slashing.

    The scarecrow would know doubt hear him coming. It would blink away, assault his mind. Harald would resist, and once it realized it couldn¡¯t break him, it would close, probably trying to appear from behind.

    Then Harald would hit it with the Aura of the Aching Depths and cut it down.

    It was a plan.

    And if all went wrong, he could summon the Goldchops.

    He carefully removed his unlit lantern, set it against the wall, and then unshouldered his pack.

    Unencumbered, he took a deep breath, steadied his nerves, then ghosted out of his narrow portal to creep along the walkway.

    Which was difficult. Its pitted surface was covered in grit and detritus. Harald forced himself to move with excruciating care, picking each next step before even lifting his foot. He only had to cross some three yards to reach his chosen spot, but it felt like half a mile. His gaze kept flicking down to the scarecrow then back to the ledge.

    How was it not hearing the sound of his heart?

    His next step betrayed him. There was no clear spot to step on, so he lowered his boot with a wince on a scree of gravel which made a whispery scratching sound.

    The scarecrow vanished.

    Where? Harald straightened, raked the hub room for some sign of¡ª there!

    It had appeared within a prison cell, cloistered in the shadows, protected by the horizontal bars.

    Only its burning red eyes gave it away.

    It assaulted his mind even as Harald raced around the walkway toward it. It felt like a Goldchop had buried its edge in his skull. Harald felt his gorge rise from the pain, and his sight grew watery, as if he were suddenly submerged. Invisible clawtips sank into his thoughts and sought to wrest them asunder.

    Breathing strenuously through his nose, gritting his jaw tight, Harald threw off the attack as he leaped the corner, briefly flying out over the three-yard drop. The scarecrow glared at him and vanished just as Harald stabbed through the bars.

    He held off on the Aching Depths and Abyssal Attunement. Those were his aces in the hole. He¡¯d known the scarecrow would blink away.

    The monster stood on the far side of the hall, upon on the second level with him, studying him as it stood motionless.

    Fuck, but he needed ranged weaponry.

    The urge to summon the Goldchops was almost overwhelming.

    Harald fought to catch his breath. He was too worked up. There was no reason for him to be gasping. The pain had relented.

    Wary, blade out by his side, Harald watched the scarecrow. Why was it just standing there?

    ¡°Why are you just standing there?¡± he asked, his voice alien after so much time spent seeking silence.

    Movement to his right.

    A black wolf the size of a pony was prowling out of a doorway, smoke wreathing its shaggy coat.

    ¡°Fuck,¡± Harald whispered.

    The wolf¡¯s shoulders were waist high on Harald, its head boxy, snout snub like a mastiff, its jaws massive to the point of deformity. It wasn¡¯t smoke boiling off its hide but actual shadows, so that it moved in a miasma of darkness, making it hard to read its intentions.

    Red eyes burned just like the scarecrow¡¯s, and a deep, clotted snarl resonated from within its chest, a sound so primal, so terrifying, that Harald felt the hairs on the nape of his neck and down his arm prickle.

    He glanced at the scarecrow. It was just watching. Why not? Maybe it would just observe as the shadow hound did all the work, then blink in to kill him at the most opportune moment.

    And then the scarecrow started to make this rapid clicking sound, its shoulders rising and falling.

    The fucker was laughing.

    ¡°Oh yeah?¡± Harald licked his lower lip as he watched the shadow hound prowl ever closer toward where he stood. It moved in that slow, deliberate manner of a stalking predator, slow and coiled. ¡°See how funny you think this is.¡±

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    And he summoned the Goldchops.

    The shadow hound realized the danger as both hatchets began materializing. It bayed and lunged at Harald, and its howl was no normal sound¡ªit was an attack in and of itself, echoing within Harald¡¯s very essence, seizing his mind and shaking it, filling him with dread and numbing horror.

    For a brief moment Harald felt his limbs grow stiff, his thoughts mired in gelid panic, but then his Ego 23 fought off the mind-affecting attack and he simply hopped forward to drop to the ground floor as the shadow hound pounced into the waiting Goldchops.

    The Masterwork Artifact got to work.

    The scarecrow also recognized the danger, and it must have identified Harald as the weak link because it appeared behind him just as he landed on the flagstones.

    Harald unleashed Aura of the Aching Depths.

    The full might of both the Throne of Harmony and the Throne of Shadows empowered his aura, so that a pall fell over the room.

    But the scarecrow was a Level 27 foe. It struck with a great overhand slash, its splayed talons swiping at Harald¡¯s back.

    Who managed to spin away, expecting a rear assault, but not quite in time; the talons raked his back, tore through the leather armor, and opened trails of red fire from his left shoulder to right hip.

    Gasping, Harald swept the Dawnblade up, its length engulfed by Abyssal Attunement.

    The scarecrow hopped back right as a Goldchop hit it from above like a meteor, burying its golden head where shoulder met neck.

    The scarecrow hissed as it buckled beneath the sheer strength of the attack, and Harald lunged forward to skewer it in the chest. The power of the abyss flowed into the monster, enervating it, poisoning the wound, even as the Depths drained it further.

    Above him the shadow hound leaped from where it had been dodging and retreating before the Goldchop right across the chamber to land on the far walkway, only for the gilded ax to fly right after.

    The scarecrow was wounded but not killed. It slashed at Harald¡¯s sword arm, but he tore his blade free, swayed away, gasping at the pain in his back, and reversed a lateral slash right across the monster¡¯s wooden face, hewing off its beak and leaving a black spreading stain across its visage.

    The scarecrow rose to its feet, reached for the buried Goldchop, but the Artifact burst free and began flying around the monster¡¯s head, blade whipping around to slash at it again and again and again.

    The scarecrow blinked away.

    Wincing, blood soaking into his back, Harald scanned the room just in time to see one of the Goldchops cleave the shadow hound¡¯s head in twain. The scarecrow had disappeared, but the second Goldchop shot up to a prison cell, its vertical rotation becoming horizontal as it flew without hesitation between the bars and disappeared into the shadows within.

    Harald dug out a couple of Golden Dawns and absorbed them into his palm. Healing radiance flowed through his body as he took in the scales¡¯ power, and he felt the wounds in his back knit up. How to return to the second floor? He dismissed the Dawnblade, shoved the red armchair so that it sat beneath the lip of the closest walkway, stepped onto its seat and launched himself up. Caught hold of the rough edge and hauled himself up, the pain in his back now more of a deep ache.

    Wincing, he climbed up all the way and summoned the Dawnblade back.

    The scarecrow had blinked away one last time. It appeared on the ground floor and took three long strides toward a tunnel mouth before the Goldchop that had slain the wolf simply flew straight down to cleave it in the back of the head.

    The monster scrabbled at the embedded ax, twisted about, took four steps into the center of the chamber, and came within reach of Harald.

    Who leaped down, Dawnblade reversed, and sank his longsword two-handed into the scarecrow¡¯s chest.

    It collapsed before him as Harald crashed to the ground, and lay still.

    ¡°Finally,¡± whispered Harald, and he sank into a crouch, sweat stinging his face. His back still ached, so he dug another Golden Dawn from the first scarecrow¡¯s pouch and absorbed it as well.

    The pain receded altogether.

    That blow had been a bad one.

    Six Golden Dawns appeared above the scarecrow corpse, while only three appeared above the shadow hound.

    But something else manifested beside those three glorious scales above the brutalized black dog: a spinning black diamond the size of Harald¡¯s fist.

    Harald froze.

    He¡¯d never seen one before, but he¡¯d heard about such a thousand time.

    A Servitor Crystal.

    He rose to his feet and jogged over to the armchair, and once again leaped to the walkway. He ran around the hub¡¯s perimeter till he reached the slain hound. It was so large that it lay precariously balanced upon the walkway, its forelegs and ruined head lolling over the edge to drip blood and brains to the floor below.

    Harald hesitated, then snatched up the three Golden Dawns, dropping them in the scarecrow pouch more to get them out of the way then anything else.

    The Servitor Crystal rotated slowly, a simple diamond composed of eight triangular faces. It looked to be made of tinted glass, and within roiled black shadows out of which peered twin red eyes.

    They were staring up at him.

    Harald shivered.

    The Goldchops reached him, moving slowly now like sated hunters, their blades clean and gleaming. They assumed their positions beside his shoulders.

    ¡°All right,¡± whispered Harald, rubbing his hands together. ¡°OK. Here we go.¡±

    And he reached out and closed his fist around the crystal.

    A flash of power raced through him, giddying and fierce, and the Crystal disappeared.

    But it wasn¡¯t gone.

    With a sense Harald had never fully understood, realized, or appreciated before, he could feel its presence within him, deep within, down, down inside his Cosmos.

    He knew what to do next. It wasn¡¯t necessary, but like hell was he going to skip this step. Backing away from the corpse, he found one of the cells with broken bars and carefully slipped inside. He sat against the back wall, hidden in the gloom, and willed the Goldchops to hover in the air before him like watchdogs.

    Then he closed his eyes and dove into his Cosmos.

    Down he flew, eager and filled with trepidation. Down through the darkness, that ink-black sea that gave way to glittering stars and the Fallen Angel herself.

    There she was, as vast as a mountain range, asleep with her head bent. Her billion scales flickered and glimmered upon her armature, and in her palms and hidden amongst her wings burned his Ascended Thrones.

    But Harald wrested his attention from this heavenly glory to consider his immediate environs. To one side hovered the Goldchop and Dawnblade, both vividly illuminated in the dark as if by spotlights. But where¡­?

    A shape was prowling around the very edges of his Cosmos. Feral and massive, its hide matted and so dark that it was more an absence of stars than a presence, the shadow mastiff paced as if learning the scope of its new home.

    Harald stilled.

    He sensed no menace from it now. Gone were the snarls, that coiled energy that preceded a leap. Now it was but a monstrous dog, albeit one with massive jaws and shadows melting off its fur.

    No wonder he¡¯d not been able to detect it before while it had hunted him. It had to have shadow abilities, a means to hide perfectly in the dark.

    Harald abruptly summoned his window, giddy with delight:

    Name: Harald Darrowdelve

    Soul Nature: Insatiable Void

    Soul Rank: Divine

    Soul Ability: Condemnation of Success

    Class: Abyssal Initiate 1

    Class Actives: Abyssal Attunement

    Class Passives: Aura of the Aching Depths

    Endowments: Demon Seed

    Strength: 11

    Dexterity: 10

    Constitution: 12

    Ego: 23

    Presence: 8

    Thrones: 2/7 (Throne of Harmony, Throne of Shadow)

    Scales: 475,324/1,000,000

    Artifacts: Dawnblade (Common), Goldchop (Masterwork)

    Servitors: Shadow Mastiff (Uncommon)

    Uncommon. He¡¯d been hoping for Rare, but as impressive as Level 27 felt to him, not only was the Shadow Mastiff not the most dangerous monster here, it was as nothing compared to what awaited him in the depths.

    His new Servitor ignored him, continuing to sniff around the perimeter of the Cosmos, occasionally ambling away, growing a little smaller, then returning. All the tales spoke of heroes summoning their vanquished foes to fight for them in battle, but none of them went into detail about what the Servitors did while in the Cosmos.

    They weren¡¯t actually alive; they didn¡¯t need to eat, to sleep, nor to rest. If slain, they would become dormant for a span of days as their essence reknit itself. The Seraphites of course had their doctrine on Servitors, but it had always sounded very convoluted to Harald. In the raiding texts he¡¯d read, they were simply described as having been ¡®transferred¡¯ to the raider by the Fallen Angel herself.

    Which had always confused Harald, because wasn¡¯t she supposed to be dead?

    Metaphysics. Maybe he shouldn¡¯t have avoided the subject as much as he had.

    Regardless, the Shadow Mastiff didn¡¯t pad up to him to make friends. It ignored him, continuing to pace the perimeter and sniff at the stars.

    Harald swam back up to waking. The Goldchops still hung before him, but they were at the end of their tether; he couldn¡¯t keep them summoned forever. The more powerful he became the longer he¡¯d be able to manifest them, but with only two Thrones they wouldn¡¯t last much longer without a rest.

    So he dismissed them, stood, and peered around the hub before stepping out warily onto the walkway.

    Then, just like summoning his Artifacts, Harald extended his might, reached into his personal Cosmos, and summoned his Shadow Mastiff.

    It appeared a few paces off to his left, massive and hirsute, shadows wisping off its shaggy coat like mist of a dawn lake. It cast about, sniffing, and then, having ascertained no immediate threat, turned to regard him with its burning crimson eyes, as if say, What? What did you summon me for?

    ¡°Just experimenting,¡± said Harald. Servitors were self-willed, but they were supposed to obey commands. So Harald looked at a tunnel mouth at the far end of the room and willed the Mastiff to go examine it.

    The huge black hound padded off, thick tail swinging from side to side, and with easy lopes followed the walkway and slowed as it reached the doorway in question. There it sniffed and peered into the darkness, then looked back at Harald over its massive shoulder as if to say, Yes. It¡¯s a fucking door.

    Harald felt laughter bubble up in his chest, exhilaration over having a Servitor while still only 1st Level. Not just that, but one acquired in a good third of the way down into the dungeon. It would possess its supernatural baying assault, and be able to blend in with the shadows.

    The Mastiff was watching him.

    Its gaze wasn¡¯t friendly, but nor was it actively inimical. If anything, it had the look of an annoyed older brother who loathed having his time wasted.

    ¡°Fine,¡± said Harald, dismissing the Mastiff back to his Cosmos. ¡°Rest up.¡±

    The Mastiff hadn¡¯t sensed any threats in the room, and its senses were undoubtedly better than Harald¡¯s own, so he simply lowered himself to his stomach on the walkway¡¯s edge then dropped to the ground floor without too much concern. He walked up to the fallen scarecrow and collected the six Golden Dawns that hovered over its corpse.

    Then, as before, he took a pouch from it side in which he found eight more Golden Dawns.

    Combined with what he¡¯d already taken and absorbed, and the 27th Level was proving to be a goldmine.

    He poured the scales into the first pouch, tossed the new one away, then paused. Considered. A thought occurred to him, and he stepped over to the flagstone the scarecrow had been examining, and squatted to examine it in turn.

    He couldn¡¯t sense anything different about the broad stone tile. It was cemented in place, and looked to be of common gray stone, a thin patina of rust smeared over it. Harald rapped his knuckles on the rock, then tapped the pommel of his dagger.

    Nothing.

    It would take him ages to chip away the crumbling cement and then find a way to lever it out of the ground. Ages he didn¡¯t have.

    But still. The scarecrows were harvesting scales from caches. Why? Neither of the monsters¡¯ pouches had carried so many scales as to indicate they carried their earnings upon them at all times. And given their cunning intellect, it was clear they were capable of thought.

    So: it stood to reason that they taking their loot somewhere, right?

    Harald returned to the corpse.

    Time to use the Dawnblade¡¯s tracking power.

 Chapter 58

    Harald turned the Dawnblade to and fro. The Abyssal Attunement was gone, so that its stone length glimmered wetly as always, muted green and eerily sharp. How to activate the special power?

    It had to be intuitive. All Artifact powers were.

    So he pointed its tip at the slain scarecrow, and simply willed the sword to activate.

    The scarecrow lurched up backwards to its feet, spasmed, then rushed back to the doorway its head split asunder beneath the falling Goldchop.

    In rapid order it retraced its steps in reverse.

    But not the scarecrow proper; the corpse yet lay on the ground, its black treacly blood leaking out.

    A ghost, barely translucent, and moving at twice the original¡¯s speed.

    The fight replayed itself, and then abruptly the scarecrow appeared in its crouch before the flagstone by the armchair, where it became still.

    After a few moments of watching the monster¡¯s obsessive interest, Harald willed events to play back faster.

    The scarecrow blurred as its every minute movement and adjustment overlapped to cause it to appear indistinct. Then it leaped to its feet and backed toward a tunnel, disappearing into its gloom.

    Harald lit his scale-lantern at its lowest glow and hurried after. He willed the ghost to slow, not want to rush pell-mell through the level in pursuit, and sought to find a balance between caution and efficiency.

    It was eerie in the extreme to follow the scarecrow¡¯s ghost, for it faced him always, walking backward along the tunnel, its manner jerky, pausing occasionally to scratch at the wall or simply crane its head and twist it from side to side, as if listening.

    Harald followed it through intersections, down a flight of narrow stairs that curled tightly upon itself, and into the smallest hub chamber yet, a high-roofed chapel with a tunnel opening in each of its four square walls. There the scarecrow paused and danced.

    There was no other way to describe it.

    Round and round it went, always in reverse, arms raised as it cavorted in a circle, shaking itself and giving little leaps.

    Harald stared, disquieted, as the scarecrow performed this bizarre ceremony for some time. Again he willed the pace to accelerate till the monster revolved so rapidly it blurred, only to abruptly reverse out of the room and down another tunnel.

    Harald slowed the rate and rushed after.

    More tunnels, and then it entered a nondescript stone chamber. It backed up to a bare wall and stepped gingerly into stone.

    Harald blinked.

    Its head remained extended, beaked mask peering from side to side in the tiny chamber, then it retracted and was gone.

    ¡°What the hell?¡±

    Harald stepped up to the wall and ran his fingers over the rock. It looked as weathered and ancient as any other span of rock down here.

    Then he recalled the Dawnblade and its tomb. The scarecrow had emerged from a secret tunnel. Which meant there had to be a catch, a means to open it. Unfortunately, the ghost had triggered it from the other side; watching its reflection gave him no clues.

    Long moments passed as Harald pressed and prodded, and then he took a breath and stepped back, collecting himself and raising the lantern.

    Nothing obvious.

    So instead he moved to the side of the wall and moved the lantern up and down, in and out, trying to get the moving shadows that shifted across the rough wall to give something away.

    There.

    A slight depression, too regular to be natural.

    Harald pressed the small segment and was rewarded by a click, a grinding sound, and then a sliver of rock slid aside to reveal a dark passage.

    Grinning, Harald listened intently.

    Nothing.

    So he stepped inside, clipping the lantern to his belt, blade drawn. The ghost had fled into the distance, so Harald bid it slow to a crawl till he caught up with it.

    The secret passage was so narrow his shoulders brushed against the rock on either side, and it smelled musty, the air stale. Its passage was kinked, turning abruptly from side to side, and then terminated in another blank wall.

    No hole to peer out through.

    Harald frowned and pressed his ear to the rock.

    Silence.

    The scarecrow had evinced wariness upon emerging from the tunnel. What was it worried about?

    ¡°Fuck it,¡± muttered Harald, turning his lantern off and searching for a similar rectangle of stone. For a long while he pressed and prodded, then by luck found another button that clicked and caused the wall to slide aside.

    Harald only had a moment to take in what lay beyond.

    It was a small room. Ornate columns framed a covered aisle that ran around its perimeter. In the center stood an armature of sticks and iron bars, all lashed together by thick ropes. Upon this scores of scales were affixed, glittering and refulgent.

    A scarecrow was tending this sculpture, and it whirled around, tattered cloak flaring, crimson eyes virulently bright.

    A wave of fury, of hatred lashed out at Harald as it battered at his mind.

    Outrage.

    He shouldn¡¯t be here.

    Harald cried out as he ran through the agony, knowing it wouldn¡¯t stop him, Dawnblade drawn.

    During his previous encounters he¡¯d weathered the attack while the Goldchops drove the scarecrow to flee.

    This time he ran through the pain, and in doing so surprised the scarecrow. It backed away, clawed hands raised aggressively, but its shock was such that it didn¡¯t blink away immediately.

    Eyes glassy with tears from the pain, Harald fell instinctively into the Dungeon Square. Abyssal Attunement sheathed his blade as he swung in an oblique slash even as the Aching Depths enfolded them both in its chill embrace, causing the twinkling lights of the scales to dim, the temperature to drop, the scarecrow¡¯s hesitation to mount.

    The black Dawnblade slashed down the front of the scarecrow, cutting open its robe and scoring a deep gash across its bony chest. The corruption of the abyss flowed into the monster¡¯s body, blackening its flesh and causing curlicues of darkness to spill forth even as a pulse of energy flowed into Harald.

    Now the scarecrow did squawk and it blinked away.

    But this room was small, the smallest yet. Knowing how they operated, Harald turned to the farthest corner and charged toward it even as the scarecrow pressed one large hand to its chest and renewed its assault on Harald¡¯s mind.

    ¡°Gah!¡± cried Harald, knees momentarily going weak as he charged past the column to swing the reverse cut at the scarecrow. It raised a sinewy arm, its sleeve sliding down to reveal bones and rods, and the Dawnblade bit into its forearm.

    The Aching Depths were all around them, leaching the monster of purpose, of vitality. Harald pressed his advantage, reversing his cut and coming at his foe from another angle, but before his blade could hit it blinked away again.

    It appeared beside the entrance to the secret tunnel.

    There were no other doors or exits.

    For a second Harald thought it was going to flee, but then it looked at the scale sculpture and instead blinked away again.

    If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    Harald spun around, abyssal blade singing, and hewed clear through its wrist as its claws swung down to tear open his back.

    It blasted him with another mental assault as it reeled away, but this one was greatly weakened; it staggered back, and Harald followed up, abandoning the Square for a straight skewer. He slammed the Dawnblade straight into its wounded chest, and again met that rocky resistance once its tip was driven an inch into its body.

    But this time Harald kept powering forward, driving the scarecrow before him, three large strides and he slammed it into a column. The resistance proved the anvil to his blade¡¯s hammer; the Dawnblade crunched home, piercing the scarecrow all the way through.

    It hissed and swiped at him with its one good hand.

    Harald half-turned, presenting his shoulder, reluctant to lose his sword, and took a deep slashing blow across his arm and shoulder.

    The pain was shocking, but he shoved that aside, tore free the Dawnblade, and with its edge enhanced by Abyssal Attunement her reversed a clumsy slash across the scarecrow¡¯s masked visage.

    Wood split, one eye ruptured, and its head was knocked to the side as the blade clove right through before cracking against the side of the column.

    Harald, gasping for breath, went to boot the scarecrow in the chest, but it blinked away.

    The secret passage.

    Harald reeled around, saw the monster appear by the tunnel, hunched over, good hand grabbing at the wall for support.

    It staggered into the tunnel.

    Harald let out a cry of defiance, of fury, and rushed after. He crossed the intervening gap and drove the Dawnblade between the monster¡¯s shoulder blades. They both crashed to the ground.

    For a moment they thrashed in the dark. Its robe was dusty, musty, and stank of preserved flesh, of old grease. Harald gasped and wrenched at his blade, willing it to die. It cracked its elbow into his temple as it sought to turn around, and for a moment everything went white as Harald sagged to the side.

    It shuffled out from under him, tried to rise, fell. It blinked away but appeared only a yard further down the hallway. It clicked harshly, but then slumped.

    Harald reared up, eyesight bleary, and realized he¡¯d dropped his sword. He picked it up, head pounding, and it took all his focus to chop it down on the monster¡¯s cowl.

    Again and again he hacked, until at last he was sure it was dead.

    Gasping, he slumped over, sat.

    He dug with clumsy fingers into his scale pouch and absorbed a handful of random scales.

    Immediate relief washed over him. The pain in his head eased, the deep, wet agony in his shoulder and arm receded, and in a matter of moments he felt completely refreshed.

    ¡°Damn,¡± he whispered. The Golden Dawns hadn¡¯t been so effective last time. Curious, he summoned his window.

    Scales: 477,624/1,000,000

    Ah. He¡¯d absorbed two Aurora Veils and three Golden Dawns in his urgency.

    No wonder he felt much better.

    As he sat there, blinking away the shock of the violence and pain, a new message appeared in the air before him, unbidden:

    The abyss has marked your ascent.

    Your valor has resonated through the depths.

    By the decree of the Fallen Angel, you are granted the next echelon of your destiny:

    Abyssal Initiate 2

    Active Ability Unlocked: Dark Vigor

    Infuse your mortal frame with fell energies not of this earth, but whispered of in the shadowed corners of nightmares.

    +2 to Dexterity while activated

    +2 to Strength while activated

    +2 to Constitution while activated

    Passive Ability Unlocked: Adamantine Fortitude

    Your weak flesh shall become insensate to the clawing hands of agony.

    And then beneath that, a second message appeared, appended as if by a private source:

    The Demon Seed Has Stirred

    Passive Ability Enhanced: Shadow Fortitude

    Your weak flesh shall become insensate to the clawing hands of agony, even as the shadows reduce your need for rest and ennoble your endurance.

    Harald gaped.

    The text hung before him, bright and clear in the gloom of the tunnel. He was forced to reread it several times till its import truly sank home.

    He¡¯d reached Level 2. Which meant Vorakhar would make available a portal home.

    But more than that.

    The Demon Seed had modified his Passive Ability. Harald summoned his window, and sure enough, there was no mention of Adamantine Fortitude. Instead, Shadow Fortitude was listed after Aura of the Aching Depths.

    What the¡­? How was that even possible?

    Harald simply stared. So darkness would now restore him? That was incredible, but having his Abilities so visibly modified by the Demon Seed unnerved him more than he cared to admit.

    Putting that aside, Harald looked at what else he¡¯d gained.

    Dark Vigor looked amazing.

    Especially as he could combine it with the Goldchop¡¯s bonuses and achieve Strength 15, Dexterity 14, and Constitution 14.

    Those were¡­ those were phenomenal stats. Fit for a raider double his level, if not triple. With Strength 15 he¡¯d truly be pushing into inhuman levels of might, beyond what the strongest, fittest person in the world could achieve.

    Dark Vigor.

    He couldn¡¯t restrain himself.

    He activated the Ability.

    Immediately the fell energies flowed through him, and he saw black fire flicker across his frame, his arms, his hands.

    It was intoxicating, deliriously wonderful. Not only was all trace of the pain and aches of his raiding banished by his scale healing¡ªand no doubt his Shadow Fortitude¡ªbut he now felt invigorated as if he¡¯d quaffed a dozen cups of coffee after a full night¡¯s sleep.

    He breathed deeply, powerfully, as potent emotion swirled through him. This was more than just a mere enhancement of his physical stats. Yes, he felt faster, more resilient, stronger in every way.

    But this was more. He couldn¡¯t wrap his mind around it, but it had something to do with the black flames that enveloped him, burning in ghost-like fashion and limning his body.

    ¡°What the hell,¡± he laughed, turning his hand back and forth. Using this power before others would raise eyebrows. Black flames were never considered holy. And yet. He felt his blood running hot, his vitality rising.

    He couldn¡¯t just sit there.

    Harald bounded to his feet, snatched up the handful of Golden Dawns that had appeared over the slain scarecrow, and strode back into the small hidden chamber. The scale sculpture needed to be studied, but for now he was enraptured by his Dark Vigor.

    On impulse he summoned the Goldchops.

    +2 Strength, +2 Dexterity flowed into him as the hatchets appeared by his side.

    It was too much! Harald laughed, giddy, as his muscles coiled beneath his skin, his shoulders seemed to swell beneath his ruined leather armor, and his thighs grew corded in might. His back broadened, and he felt as if he could crush stones in his palms.

    How hard would he hit now?

    And no wonder raiders adopted weapon Artifacts. No regular blade would last long when swung with such power.

    Harald laughed, exuberant, and took three long strides to leap up at a pillar. He twisted, pushed off its length with the sole of his foot, and spun to land lightly upon the floor. He felt as if he could fight forever, could withstand any blow, could pierce a flying apple with a lunge from his Dawnblade.

    He felt fantastic.

    The black flames continued to rage over his skin. Again he stopped to marvel. It leached out of his armor as well, completely encasing him.

    Then, curious, he activated Aura of the Aching Depths.

    The air around him darkened, the temperature dropped, but more importantly, the flames that enveloped him faded away, absorbed or saturating the aura. Which felt more potent, not only due to his second Throne, but also now because of his Dark Vigor.

    ¡°Huh.¡± Harald turned his hand about. The flames were gone. This at the very least was a way to mask his new Ability, but also increase the Aching Depth¡¯s potency.

    He had to test it out.

    He needed fresh foes to fight.

    With great reluctance Harald dismissed the Goldchops, and felt his strength and speed subside; then he released the Depths and Dark Vigor, and it felt as if the world became monochrome, his vitality leaching away and leaving him leaden and cloddish.

    How dull and heavy he felt in comparison! He swung his arm, threw a couple of shadowboxing punches, and marveled. How had he ever fought like this? In comparison, it felt as if he¡¯d strapped weights to his wrist and ankles while donning a vest of heavy lead.

    And that was with an array of 11,10, and 12.

    How had he lived before with his puny Strength and Dexterity of 6 and Stamina of 5?

    Harald frowned and tried to remember that life. Where jogging a couple of blocks gave him heart palpitations, where he could barely trudge up and down the stairs of his own home without feeling tired, that heavy, listless feeling that he bore day in, day out. His clumsy, oafish nature.

    It had been like living life half-asleep.

    No longer.

    Harald took a deep, satisfied breath, and only now did he turn his attention upon the armature.

    Huh.

    The scarecrows had fashioned it in crude approximation of the Fallen Angel. There were rough wings fashioned from branches, here her torso forged from iron rods and crude sheets, and her head was a copper vase roped down upon her shoulders.

    And over her form they¡¯d affixed scales, mostly Silver Starbursts and Golden Dawns, but with an Aurora Veil here and there.

    It looked to be worth a small fortune. Harald tried to estimate how many: perhaps ten Aurora Veils, three times that number of Golden Dawns, and almost a hundred Silver Starbursts.

    A fortune indeed.

    He set about collecting them all, plucking each scale free of the sticky tack that had been used to hold them in place, and rather than force them into his pouch, he simply absorbed them into his palm. Time and again he consumed the Fallen Angel¡¯s power, and when he was done he checked his window to see his new score:

    Scales: 491,284/1,000,000

    A good thirteen thousand scales.

    Harald smiled contentedly. He¡¯d save what was already in his pouch in case of injury, but he¡¯d be sure to absorb all that before leaving the dungeon.

    But.

    Harald groaned. That would mean he¡¯d be ostensibly leaving the 8th Level with a gain of some 15,000 scales.

    The fucking Gazette would have a field day.

    Damn it.

    For a while Harald just stood there, hands on his hips, frowning at nothing in particular. There wasn¡¯t anything to be done. The Houses were already in a stir about him, and duplicating his feat¡ªor exceeding it by 150%¡ªwould only confirm that he was worth pursuing. But it wouldn¡¯t materially change anything.

    Unless they found out he now had a Masterwork Artifact and an Uncommon Servitor.

    Best keep all that under wraps.

    Harald sighed, checked the armature one last time to ensure he¡¯d not missed a scale, then returned to the mouth of the secret passage. There he paused and gathered himself.

    This was still the 27th Level.

    And despite now being Level 2 and having new powers, including the Goldchop and Shadow Mastiff, that didn¡¯t mean he could be reckless.

    Two scarecrows could still kill him. Could probably burst his mind if they focused their attacks at once.

    So he took a moment to settle, to rein in his exhilaration, and remember his cautious approach. Dismissing the Dawnblade for when he¡¯d need it, Harald padded into the passage, stepped carefully over the fallen scarecrow, and retraced his steps.

    The portal back to the 8th was somewhere out there. Hopefully close. He¡¯d return, collect his friends, then emerge from the dungeon to register his newfound power with the damned Mining Consortium¡¯s accountants.

    But first he had to get to the portal without dying.

    In the darkness, Harald grinned.

    He wouldn¡¯t mind running into a scarecrow on which to test his new powers before he got out of here, though.

 Chapter 59

    Where before creeping through the 27th Level had felt fraught and filled with mortal peril, it now felt¡­ exciting.

    Harald moved slowly, forcing himself to remain cautious, but awareness of his new powers bubbled in his mind. At his command he could summon the Dawnblade, the Goldchop, and his Servitor, a hulking Shadow Mastiff. He was a second level Abyssal Initiate, which inured him to pain while filling him with terrible vitality.

    He knew, he knew he should play this quiet, just find a way to sneak out and get home, but he could barely restrain himself.

    He wanted to find a foe.

    He wanted to test himself.

    So he crept down tunnels, listening intently, his lantern at its lowest ebb, and each time he reached a hub chamber he peered inside, not knowing if he hoped to see the portal home or a scarecrow.

    He found enemies first.

    It was a grand room, stately and huge, with an air of ruined refinement that had been missing from the others. The stone here was white marble, but the rusted blooms were still present, as if clouds of orange had settled thickly across the walls and floor to congeal and harden.

    The layout was familiar; archways ringed the ground floor, beyond which lay an encircling covered aisle, but as high as the ceiling was, there was no second story. Instead, large barred alcoves reminded him of the prison cells from the previous hub, but without a walkway before them.

    At the head of the chamber, though, was a resplendent frieze carved into the wall depicting the Fallen Angel. She stood upon a lintel set over a small door, eroded by time, though her wings were still vast, each feather detailed.

    Harald¡¯s tunnel emerged on the ground floor, in the shadows behind a column, and from where he stood pressed against the wall he could see two scarecrows dancing in the center of the room.

    Just like the ghost of his vanquished foe, they cavorted in a circle, leaping and crouching in silent ceremony.

    It was eerie. Harald couldn¡¯t tell if there was a pattern to their movements, or if they were just moving as they saw fit. It felt stylized; their dance alternated between stiff steps and sudden, fluid leaps. They seemed unaware of each other, following around and around in an eternal circle, their sleeves occasionally slipping down to reveal their inhuman physiognomy of iron rods and strangle, tensile tendons.

    Harald bit his lower lip.

    Two scarecrows.

    He was pretty sure he could them if he went all out.

    He could imagine Nessa¡¯s disapproval so distinctly that he checked himself. He¡¯d already accomplished so much on the 27th. Killing a scarecrow by himself was an awesome feat. But if he was being honest? That had already lost its savor.

    First he summoned the Dawnblade into his hand. It materialized with sweet speed, its ruined grip rough in his hand, its length pressed down against his knee.

    Then he summoned the Goldchops. They appeared beside him, and immediately he felt potent strength flood into him, his stance subtly changing as he felt himself grow corded with new muscle, his back broader. The Constitution boost also solidified his sense of committing himself to a worthy venture; with this much energy and staying power, how could he lose?

    The Goldchops glinted beside him, swaying slightly as if in a subtle breeze, their blades oriented on the dancing scarecrows while the awaited his command.

    The next summons felt trickier. The Shadow Mastiff was free-willed, and though it obeyed his commands, what if it gave his position away?

    Harald rubbed at his stubbled jaw.

    He had to assume a Servitor wouldn¡¯t endanger him.

    So he reached into his core, down into the heart of his Cosmos, and summoned the Mastiff to his side.

    The tunnel was too narrow to accommodate the two of them, so the Mastiff appeared just behind him. It near filled the narrow corridor, its shoulders broad and angular, its scent pungent and bestial, its eyes burning crimson in the gloom.

    But it didn¡¯t immediately whuuf or claw at the ground or otherwise give them away. Instead, it canted its huge blocky head to one side, its gaze locked on the dancing monsters beyond, and then glanced up at Harald, eyes wide, triangular ears alert and peaked.

    Harald willed it to stay still.

    He wasn¡¯t done prepping.

    While Shadow Fortitude was a Passive that didn¡¯t give him away, Aura of the Aching Depths did. So he kept it suppressed even as he trigged Dark Vigor.

    Oh, sweet glory.

    His body thrilled as that unholy vitality coursed through him, his might doubling, his body feeling weightless, his reservoirs of stamina broadening into oceans. Harald restrained the urge to laugh as black flames ghosted about his frame; even in this dark he could see them, as if his eyesight were attuned to their specific radiance.

    Harald extended his Dawnblade, pointing at one of the scarecrows even as Abyssal Attunement ran down the green sword like an oil slick.

    That one is yours, he commanded the Shadow Mastiff. When I give the word.

    Then he willed the Goldchops to split up, each to a target, and with a deep breath, set them flying forth.

    He immediately sprinted after them.

    The Goldchops blurred out, spinning head over haft with an eagerness that made Harald grin.

    The Shadow Mastiff bayed.

    The sound reverberated within the room, but though it sounded fearsome, it had no effect on Harald.

    The scarecrows, however, immediately ceased their cavorting to flinch back, claws rising, just as the Goldchops came flying out of the darkness at their heads.

    Harald¡¯s target blinked away in time, but the second took the hatchet straight to the chest.

    Harald activated the Aura of the Aching Depths as he curved his sprint toward the remaining scarecrow, intent on finishing it off so he could turn all his resources upon the second even as he willed both Goldchops to search out their vanished prey.

    As fast as Harald could run, the Shadow Mastiff was faster.

    It loped ahead of him, three bounds and then it was upon the scarecrow, front paws on its shoulders to drive it to the ground as its huge maw closed upon the monster¡¯s neck.

    Only for it to disappear just before it could hit the ground.

    Harald cursed, wheeled about, searching them both out, and that¡¯s when he saw the third scarecrow.

    It had been crouching in the darkness beyond the pillars of the far side of the room. Now it rose, eyes burning bright red, to glare at Harald.

    Fuck.

    Pain slammed into his head as if he¡¯d been broadsided by a swung shovel. Harald gasped and pressed his hand to his temple, squinting as he saw both Goldchops fly down the length of the hall to where the first two must have appeared.

    The Shadow Mastiff bayed again and raced toward the third scarecrow.

    Three of them.

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    Was retreat even possible?

    Too late.

    Harald turned and ran toward the north of the room where the narrow door was surmounted by the angel frieze.

    By the angels, even with the pain clamoring in his head it felt good to be so light on his feet. Trailing black flames, he leaped and swung on intuition, and sure enough a scarecrow appeared before him, its crimson eyes going wide as the Aura of the Aching Depths washed over it like a dark tidal wave, Harald¡¯s abyssal blade coming down in a great overhead chop.

    They always blinked to the farthest empty corner.

    With three in the room and the Goldchops and Mastiff in play, it meant one of them was guaranteed to seek this space.

    Harald cried out savagely as his blade slammed home upon the scarecrow¡¯s upflung arm. It clove through the bars and sinews and cut deep into the monster¡¯s neck.

    But even as augmented as he was, scarecrows were tough opponents.

    Black smoke rose from where the abyssal blade had touched flesh, and with the combined might of the Aching Depths and the touch of the abyss, the scarecrow staggered back, momentarily off balance.

    Dark Vigor made it impossible not to tear his blade free and slash again. Harald bent his full will upon destroying his foe. It stumbled back against the wall, overwhelmed by the ferocity of the onslaught, the pressure of his aura, the debilitating power of the abyssal blade.

    It felt like chopping down a tree, but Dark Vigor gave Harald illimitable energy and his blows hammered down again and again.

    He¡¯d have finished the scarecrow off there and then if two distinct assaults on his mind hadn¡¯t dropped at once.

    Harald screamed and staggered back, almost dropping the Dawnblade in his desire to cradle his head.

    But just as quickly one of the assaults vanished, leaving a sole attacker rending his mind. The scarecrow before him blinked away, and Harald spun, tears running down his cheeks from the severity of the assault, his mind dazed as he fought the urge to vomit.

    The Mastiff leaped across the room to pounce on a scarecrow, getting a bite in just as it teleported away.

    Goldchops flew back and forth, questing without surcease for the evasive foes.

    Harald gasped, took a deep, shuddering breath, and tried to get a sense of how the tide of battle flowed.

    The scarecrows were running ragged.

    The one he¡¯d mauled was barely able to stay on its feet, and even as Harald watched it appeared too close to a Goldchop, which reversed directly and flew right into its mask, splitting open its woody head and braining it.

    The Mastiff seemed to be having a grand old time. It had ceased baying to instead snarl and bark excitedly, rushing to and fro as it chased the disappearing scarecrows, its huge shaggy tail wagging back and forth.

    Harald straightened.

    Dark Vigor washed away the pain, the nausea, the momentary panic.

    Black flames coruscated around him like a hellish nimbus.

    They had this fight.

    They had it.

    Harald spun the Dawnblade about once and then rushed back into the fray. The fact that this room had but the one level was the true blessing; it prevented the scarecrows from blinking up and down the floors, which would have neutralized him and the Mastiff.

    But they needed to corral the scarecrows.

    Harald ordered the Goldchops to remain in the back third of the hall and for the Mastiff to patrol the center.

    The scarecrows blipped in and out once or twice, were immediately assaulted, and then, as Harald has hoped, teleported to his end of the hall, thinking him the least threatening.

    Their mistake.

    Harald willed his Dark Vigor to empower the Aura of the Aching Depths to the utmost, drawing on both Thrones so that his aura grew oppressively thick and enervating. The air around him darkened, as if they stood at the bottom of a pond, and grew thick and cold.

    Harald rushed at the closest foe, sword trailing behind him in the Tail Stance, and he reached the scarecrow just as it turned and blasted his mind with its psychic assault.

    Harald gasped, eyes going wide, but swung regardless, a great upward sweep of his abyssal blade that slashed the monster¡¯s robe and thwokked home between its legs.

    The blow sank home, and thought the scarecrow didn¡¯t react as a human might, it was still a terrible wound.

    But Harald was in close enough for it to slash, so that it raked him with its fearsome talons, once across the chest, tearing away the last of his leather armor, and then once across the shoulder.

    Harald felt like buffets from a gale, rocking him but leaving no impression of pain.

    Grimacing, he wrenched his blade free and went to skewer his foe, but it blinked away, appearing in the aisle at the center of the chamber.

    The Shadow Mastiff bayed and lunged after it, the reverberating howl causing the scarecrow to press its claws to its wooden head.

    Harald thrust his hand into his pouch, absorbed some random scales, and sensed more than felt his wounds heal over.

    The third scarecrow blinked into view right beside him, and slammed its fist into Harald¡¯s gut.

    It was like taking a sledgehammer to the stomach.

    Harald bent over the creature¡¯s arm, breath exploding from his lungs as he felt his innards liquefy.

    The scarecrow tore its fist away and slammed him in the back of the head, driving him to the ground so hard he bounced.

    Dark Vigor yet burned around him, but its flames began to ebb.

    Without its unholy vitality, Harald knew that would have been the end of him.

    Blood coughed up his throat, hot and coppery. He¡¯d lost his blade. His vision doubled then began to blank.

    A loud bark sounded and the scarecrow looming above him was barreled back by a leaping bolt of black fury.

    And yet Harald felt no pain.

    Despite the blood he kept coughing up, the way his thoughts were becoming bleary, his whole body distant, he felt nothing but urgency.

    So he shoved his hand into the great burlap pouch and just set to absorbing scales.

    His vision grew sharp, the roiling murky mess that was his stomach eased, the blood ceased to gout out his mouth.

    A moment later he sat up, wiping the back of his wrist across his eyes, and took in the chamber.

    The scarecrows were dead.

    The Goldchops were pulling themselves out of one corpse, while the Shadow Mastiff was shaking the third about like a rag toy, its huge jaws clamped around its neck.

    Harald let out a shuddery breath.

    That had been close.

    Far, far too close.

    Grimacing, he summoned his window, wanting to see how many scales he¡¯d absorbed.

    Scales: 493,384/1,000,000

    His count had gone up by another 2,100 scales.

    Healing was expensive.

    Then again, he was just shoving his hand into a mess of scales and absorbing them all.

    Not exactly a surgical procedure.

    The Mastiff released the scarecrow, tossing the mauled body aside, and padded over to sniff at Harald. Its breath was fetid and hot, and its nose was wet as it pushed against Harald¡¯s cheek a few times before it gave him a great sandpapery lick over the ear.

    ¡°Hey, hey,¡± laughed Harald, pushing its huge head gently away. ¡°I¡¯m fine. Promise.¡±

    The Shadow Mastiff gave a low whuff and then yawned, displaying such a massive maw lined with such fearsome teeth as it momentarily whined that Harald felt like an idiot for having felt comfortable with it for even a second. Then it snapped its jaw shut, licked its chops once, and padded away to sniff at a dead scarecrow.

    The Goldchops floated over to hang on either side of him.

    Harald rubbed his head. He¡¯d won, but it had been far too close. His failure to notice the third scarecrow almost cost him everything.

    He¡¯d been too eager.

    Had rushed in too soon.

    But still.

    Harald couldn¡¯t restrain a quiet smile. Dark Vigor was amazing. He¡¯d cut straight through the scarecrow¡¯s arm as if it had been an ashen walker. It had infused his Whisper so potently that he¡¯d overwhelmed that scarecrow, prevented it from teleporting away.

    And it had kept him going when his wounds should have overwhelmed him, allowed him to take those two blows without instantly blackening out or dying.

    On the other hand Shadow Fortitude was¡­ concerning. Pain served a function, after all, it told you how bad things were getting, what had been done to you, how you needed to react to prevent things from getting worse.

    The blows Harald had sustained during the fight had felt almost illusory, his body being knocked about without the accompanying agony.

    Which was good, sure¡ªhe didn¡¯t want to be paralyzed with pain¡ªbut also¡­ eerie and strange and on some fundamental level¡­ wrong?

    Though without Shadow Fortitude, he probably wouldn¡¯t have been able to shove his hand in the pouch and heal back from the brink of death.

    Harald blew out his cheeks.

    His powers were amazing, but they were going to take getting used to.

    ¡°Thanks,¡± Harald said, looking up at the Goldchops and then to where the Shadow Mastiff was gnawing on the head of a scarecrow with its huge molars. ¡°You guys really came through.¡±

    Did the twin Goldchops dip a little lower as they hovered beside him? The Shadow Mastiff lifted its head, blinked at him as if embarrassed for his sake, then resumed gnawing.

    Scales floated in the air. Healed as he was by the scales, Harald rose smoothly to his feet, still feeling a sense of dissonance over having been so gravely wounded, feeling no pain, healing back, and now being completely normal. It made the fight feel surreal, feverish.

    Still, he collected the fifteen Golden Dawns that had appeared above the corpses, and another twenty Goldens and ten Silvers from their collective pouches.

    3,600 scales from that fight alone.

    Harald spilled out what he had left. Even after all his healing, he¡¯d made a fortune.

    16 Aurora Veils.

    71 Golden Dawns.

    93 Silver Starburst.

    A total of 24,030 scales remaining.

    How long would it have taken him to make this much on the Iron Levels?

    And all of Flutic had been amazed at his acquiring a mere 10,000 scales before.

    Though¡­ the accountants had registered him at 475,000-something coming in this time. Adding some 30,000 scales wouldn¡¯t be such an enormous percentage increase. Though the fact that he was doing it again on supposedly the 8th Level¡­

    Harald frowned. What to do?

    Absorb it all so stop it from being taxed.

    Just before he entered the portal to the 8th, at any rate.

    Harald poured the small mound of scales into the hempen pouch, distributed the overflow into his own, then stood.

    ¡°See you all soon,¡± he said, as he dismissed the Mastiff and his Artifacts.

    The giant black hound barked at him once angrily before it disappeared.

    Harald felt a pang of guilt. Was it conscious down in his Cosmos? Aware of the passage of time? He had so many questions now that he actually had a Servitor.

    With his Artifacts and Servitor gone, he felt suddenly alone with only the corpses to keep him company.

    Harald retreated to his original tunnel to retrieve his pack and lantern, then resolved to sit their quietly till enough time had passed for him to safely summon help if need be. No sense in pressing on without being able to take recourse in his resources.

    Head resting back against the wall, Harald closed his eyes, intent on listening as he simply took stock of how much had changed.

    He was now capable¡ªwith help from his acquired resources¡ªof defeating three monsters simultaneously on the 27th Level.

    Harald didn¡¯t even know what to make of that fact.

    It felt too much, alien, overwhelming.

    Somewhere he guessed that Vorakhar was smiling.

    ¡°Yeah, laugh it up,¡± he whispered. ¡°I may seem like a great investment so far, but you¡¯ll see. I belong to nobody. Not even you.¡±

 Chapter 60

    Harald found the portal back to the 8th Level not long after. It stood in a narrow hallway just off the hub in which he¡¯d killed the three scarecrows.

    For a while he simply stared at the coruscating black energy that would lead him back to his friends.

    Back to the real world.

    To Flutic, to dinner with Lady Celestaris, to House politics and training and losing Darrowdelve Manor.

    And yet.

    Harald turned and gazed behind him. At the tunnels that wound about the hub rooms like an endless argument. There was something here. Something that felt more real, more like home, than what awaited him above. The notion was perverse. He treasured his friends. Wanted on a fundamental level to grow strong to help the faceless masses against all dangers and threats.

    And yet.

    Here he felt¡­ unfettered. Alive. Raw. His nerves singing, his every sense on edge as he prowled the dark, searching for prey. He couldn¡¯t deny the sweet glory of killing foes far beyond his paygrade, the thrill of acquiring scales of immense value.

    Harald bit his lower lip. He couldn¡¯t just stay down here, could he? He¡¯d grow hungry, run out of water. He¡¯d make a mistake, would slip up, would get himself killed.

    But in a few frantic hours he¡¯d already made some 15,000 scales.

    It felt right. It felt good in a primal, unnerving manner.

    He obviously couldn¡¯t stay. His friends were awaiting him. He had responsibilities.

    But maybe he could come back.

    Harald blew out his cheeks, rubbed his face, then strode through the black portal.

    There was a moment of fluid transference, the abyss sucking him in and then spitting him out, and he emerged into that great hall of archways, the dank droplets, the clank of chains.

    The 8th Level.

    To his surprise and delight, his friends were still there. Nessa was working her way methodically through a sword form, advancing as her blade spun, while Vic regaled a despairing Sam with a tale of some kind.

    ¡°¡­ so obviously I called her bluff,¡± Vic was saying. ¡°I¡ªHarald!¡±

    Sam leaped to her feet, Nessa lowered her blade, and they all crowded around him.

    ¡°And?¡± Nessa¡¯s tone was half-demanding, half-relieved. ¡°How did it go?¡±

    Vic poked him gingerly in the chest. ¡°Are you still human? Did you have to bed a succubus?¡±

    ¡°Let him talk,¡± snapped Sam, looking him up and down. ¡°You¡¯re not hurt?¡±

    Harald raised his palms, fending them off with a smile. ¡°Not hurt. It went¡­ well? Do you want to hear it here, or back at the manor? You must be sick of waiting.¡±

    ¡°Here,¡± said Sam firmly.

    ¡°Immediately,¡± agreed Vic.

    ¡°Sure.¡± Harald grinned. ¡°Well, Vorakhar heard me out, and agreed to help on one condition.¡± And he told them what had happened, leaving nothing out.

    Their incredulity rose with each revelation.

    ¡°Preposterous,¡± cried Vic, staggering back when Harald reached the part with the Servitor Crystal. ¡°You lie! You¡¯re a braggart, a conniving worm, you¡¯ll say anything for attention!¡±

    ¡°Sounds like someone I know,¡± smiled Nessa.

    ¡°You¡­ you got a Shadow Mastiff Servitor?¡± asked Sam, tone hushed with wonder.

    ¡°Want to meet him?¡± asked Harald in return, to which she could only nod.

    Harald took a deep breath, stepped back, then reached deep into his Cosmos to summon the ebon hound.

    A second later it materialized by his side, huge and hirsute, shoulders reaching Harald¡¯s hips, its head turning from side to side as it sniffed and took in the three strangers.

    ¡°Everyone, this is¡­ Shadow Mastiff,¡± he finished lamely, realizing he¡¯d not thought to name it.

    Sam had drawn back, eyes wide, and Nessa raised her weapon instinctively. Vic, on the other hand, grinned fatuously and came forward. ¡°Oh, he¡¯s a cute puppy! What a good boy. Who¡¯s a good boy, then? You¡¯re a good boy!¡±

    The Shadow Mastiff¡¯s heavy upper lip writhed back from its huge canines as it snarled at Vic, the sound as feral and terrifying as anything Harald had ever heard.

    ¡°Oh yes,¡± said Vic in his strange, babyish tone. ¡°You¡¯re an angry boy, I absolutely understand, we all must keep up appearances. Harald, can I pet him?¡±

    Nessa took hold of Vic¡¯s arm and drew him back. ¡°You¡¯ll lose your arm.¡±

    ¡°Incredible,¡± whispered Sam, hand rising to her lips. ¡°How do you¡­ speak with him?¡±

    The mastiff began pacing around the hall, sniffing at the puddles.

    ¡°I just kind of will him to do what I want.¡± Harald shrugged. ¡°I¡¯ve got more questions than I have answers, but he seems to just understand what I need. Not that he¡¯s¡­ mindless, or anything. He¡¯s definitely got an attitude. But yeah. I would have died without him, for sure.¡±

    ¡°Incredible,¡± agreed Nessa. ¡°A Servitor from the 27th Level. And you but a 1st Level Abyssal Initiate.¡±

    ¡°Second,¡± said Vic. ¡°That¡¯s implied by his having returned to us.¡±

    ¡°Correct,¡± said Harald. ¡°Second level. With some new abilities, too.¡±

    ¡°This is terrible.¡± Vic dragged at this face with both hands, distending his features. ¡°Spending time in your company is absolutely terrible for my self-esteem. You make me feel like an under-achiever, but not on my own terms.¡±

    Harald glanced over at the huge hound. ¡°Time to go, boy.¡±

    It turned to glower at him.

    Seemed it didn¡¯t like being referred to as ¡®boy¡¯.

    But it faded from view when dismissed, and Harld turned back to his friends, smiling tentatively. ¡°Yes. So. On one hand Vorakhar placed me on the 27th Level, which was terrible. On the other hand¡­ he put me on the 27th Level, which was great.¡±

    ¡°The 27th,¡± said Nessa. ¡°That¡¯s a level universally avoided by almost everyone I¡¯ve ever met. Your scarecrows are known as Thought Reavers. They¡¯re terrible. Their attacks break minds, leave people reeling and unable to defend themselves. Few can resist their assaults.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, well.¡± Harald scratched the back of his mind. ¡°Their attacks definitely hurt. I was just able to fight through them.¡±

    Nessa shook her head, speechless.

    ¡°I¡¯ve got Ego 23, remember? Actually, I can¡¯t remember if I¡­ told you,¡± said Harald, trailing off as both Vic and Nessa¡¯s eyes widened almost comically.

    ¡°Darling.¡± Vic bowed his head as he pinched the bridge of his nose. ¡°It sounded as if you just said something patently absurd, but it could just be my having an unexpected panic attack. What was that?¡±

    ¡°Twenty-three?¡± Nessa appeared bewildered. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ I mean, obviously I believe you, but I¡¯ve, I mean¡­¡±

    Only Sam appeared unfazed.

    ¡°Yeah.¡± Harald sighed in resignation. ¡°When I emerged from the dungeon that first time, after Vorakhar saved my life, it had gone from 3 to 18. My class added another 5.¡±

    ¡°Harald. Just stop. Please.¡± Vic raised his face to stare up at nothing, blinking rapidly. ¡°I was joking early about having a panic attack, but if you continue spouting such absurdities, I will start screaming out of sheer jealous rage and possibly never stop.¡±

    ¡°That explains your change,¡± said Nessa slowly, working her way through it. ¡°Your training regimen, your discipline, your dedication. I¡¯d guessed your Ego had jumped up, but I would have guessed a 14, something¡­ something intelligible.¡±

    ¡°23,¡± said Harald apologetically. ¡°I know. It¡¯s why when the Shadow Mastiff bayed its mind attacked and two of the, ah, Mind Reavers¡ª¡±

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    ¡°Thought Reavers,¡± corrected Nessa distractedly.

    ¡°When two of them assaulted me, I was able to keep fighting.¡±

    ¡°Ridiculous,¡± said Vic, throwing up his arms and striding away. ¡°A farce!¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s why he sent you there,¡± said Sam. ¡°Vorakhar knew you were uniquely suited to handle the key threats of the 27th while reaping the benefits.¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± agreed Harald. ¡°It wasn¡¯t easy, but if I hadn¡¯t been able to shrug off the mind attacks, I¡¯d have died immediately.¡±

    Sam smiled crookedly. ¡°And it paid off. Now you¡¯ve got a Servitor and reached your Second Level. It¡¯s almost as if the demon knows what he¡¯s doing.¡±

    ¡°Almost,¡± agreed Harald again. ¡°But not quite. Because I¡¯ll tell you this: no matter how much he showers me with opportunities and gifts, I¡¯ll never become his creature. There was this moment when I was tempted to stay down there, to continue hunting, killing, reaping scales¡ª¡±

    ¡°Harry, darling!¡± Vic¡¯s call echoed from down the hall. ¡°Just tell me. How many scales did you collect? Actually, no! Stop. Don¡¯t tell me. I can¡¯t handle it.¡±

    ¡°Oh Vic,¡± sighed Nessa in tired resignation, watching as the Rapier Regent strode off deeper into the hall, gesticulating and muttering to himself.

    ¡°About 15,000 scales,¡± said Harald quietly.

    ¡°Fifteen¡­?!¡± Now it was Sam¡¯s turn to gape.

    ¡°They harvest scales for these sculptures they make,¡± said Harald. ¡°I found one after using the Dawnblade¡¯s power. It was a treasure trove, pinned up on branches to resemble the Fallen Angel.¡±

    Nessa pursed her lips as she shook her head. ¡°Incredible. But it¡¯s time we got out of here. Vic¡¯s shouting is going to draw Gloom Maws, and I¡¯m just not in the mood.¡±

    ¡°But hey.¡± Harald stepped forward and reached out to touch their arms lightly. ¡°Thank you. For waiting for me.¡±

    Sam snorted. ¡°It¡¯s starting to feel like we¡¯re becoming pretty irrelevant pretty quickly.¡±

    ¡°No.¡± Harald all but snapped at her, then caught himself. ¡°There was a moment when I considered staying below, but it was thinking of you three that snapped me out of that particular kind of madness. I need you all. I mean it.¡±

    ¡°Well.¡± Nessa¡¯s smile was pained. ¡°As quickly as you¡¯re advancing, your basic sword work is still shit. So there¡¯s room for improvement there, at any rate.¡±

    ¡°See?¡± Harald grinned. ¡°Plus who else would I invite to enter the dragon¡¯s den with me tonight? I couldn¡¯t do it without you, Nessa.¡±

    Nessa¡¯s eyes narrowed.

    ¡°What?¡± Harald feigned innocence. ¡°You¡¯re going to love it.¡±

    *

    ¡°I¡¯m going to loath it,¡± hissed Nessa, glaring out the carriage window at Flutic rolling by.

    Harald inhaled and squared his shoulders, surprised at how tight the fabric had grown around his shoulders. He wore the same outfit he¡¯d donned to the Platinum Rose, but already it felt as if it had subtly shrunk. ¡°I can¡¯t thank you enough, Nessa.¡±

    ¡°No, you can¡¯t.¡±

    Harald covertly admired her as the carriage rolled on, each passing lantern casting a passing radiance into the cabin. He¡¯d known Nessa for four years, but never had he seen her so dressed; he¡¯d seen her in warrior¡¯s garb, had seen her in outfits at once decadent and luxurious, had seen her in bathrobes and men¡¯s wear, but never in a beautiful dress actually meant for polite society.

    Her hair was pulled back in a deceptively simple style, swept up from the nape of her neck into a vertical twist, elegantly pinned at the back of her head and accentuating the length of her neck. Her dress was of the finest black silk, black as a raven¡¯s wing, the bodice fitted and subtly accentuating her warrior¡¯s physique, with long, slender sleeves. The neckline was modest, a simple choker with a black onyx her only ornament, but the back of her gown was daringly low, revealing her shoulder blades and spine almost down to the small of her back.

    ¡°Darling.¡± Vic had all but purred in delight as Nessa had descended the staircase to the entrance hall. ¡°You¡¯re dressed to kill! No, to slaughter.¡±

    ¡°She looks¡­ she looks very nice,¡± Sam had allowed, a faint flush rising to her cheeks.

    ¡°Stunning,¡± Harald had agreed, and then blushed in turn when Nessa had raised one single eyebrow.

    ¡°Oh, children,¡± Vic had sighed, extending his hand to Nessa and then turning her around so he could admire her from all angles. ¡°You are completely insensate to the language Nessa here¡ªno, Evernessa¡ªis speaking.¡±

    Sam had raised her chin angrily. ¡°We weren¡¯t all raised in ballrooms.¡±

    ¡°No, of course, and I¡¯m sure you could hold forth for hours on the virtues of different brooms.¡± Vic had shaken his head in admiration. ¡°Evernessa here will be speaking volumes before she even opens her mouth. Bravo.¡±

    Now Harald studied her out of the corner of his eye, marveling that she was with him, traveling in a coach to Celestara Manor, looking deadly and mysterious and utterly beautiful. How many times had he wished that such an evening would come to pass? Now it was here, but Nessa was staring sullenly out the window, somehow poised and sultry even in her pique.

    Harald sighed and looked out his own. It was raining in the Angelus Quarter. The cobblestones gleamed. They¡¯d rolled into such a refined part of Flutic that each block belonged to a different manor, their grounds extensive, their walls more akin to ornamental battlements than the garden walls around Darrowdelve Manor.

    The rain, Nessa¡¯s remote beauty, the violence of the 27th Level, it all combined to make Harald melancholy.

    This was his dream come true, his being invited to dine with one of the most important figures in all of Flutic due to his martial prowess, Nessa resplendent by his side.

    Yet it was that and nothing more: a dream. Nessa was cold, distant. He had no desire to join Lady Celestis¡¯ house, making this visit a necessity at best, a farce at worst.

    A dream.

    As the carriage rolled and rumbled closer to their destination, his thoughts strayed to the 27th Level. To hunting the Thought Reavers. To a slaughter that had felt more real, more tangible than anything that had happened since he¡¯d emerged back into Flutic.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± he said, surprising himself. He felt more than saw Nessa glance his way. ¡°You¡¯re only here because of my own limitations. You¡¯d think having been raised a nobleman¡¯s son that I¡¯d be better at navigating these situations. But I¡¯m not.¡±

    The weight of her regard was clear, but she didn¡¯t speak.

    Harald stared out the window at Flutic as dusk cloaked the gleaming streets. ¡°I know you don¡¯t want to be here, with me, going to this dinner. If you want, you can remain in the carriage when we reach the manor. I¡¯ll ask the driver to take you wherever you want. No, don¡¯t speak. I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m tired, Nessa. The more I try to simplify matters, to be true to myself, the more complicated the world becomes. So¡­ just decide when we arrive. And if you want to stay in the carriage¡­¡± He turned at last to glance at her.

    She was watching him, expression inscrutable, brows lowered.

    ¡°If you want to go, then I swear on my mother¡¯s memory that I won¡¯t hold it against you. I¡¯ll be fine. But please. Don¡¯t torment yourself for my sake.¡±

    Her stare was intense, but he didn¡¯t want to search her features for some clue as to what she felt. Relief? Skepticism? Amusement?

    No matter.

    He turned back to the rain.

    They arrived at the main entrance shortly thereafter. Guards in the livery of House Celestara¡¯s royal blue and gold pulled the wrought iron gates open, and they rumbled up the long drive to the front of the manor.

    Harald had never visited a grandee¡¯s home, but he¡¯d always heard tales as to how vast their estates were. Just from the length of Lady Celestis¡¯ driveway, however, it was clear that her estate was at least ten times larger than his own.

    They reached the front of her estate and the door was pulled open by a House Celestara manservant.

    Harald gathered his sword and hopped out neatly onto the gravel. A second servant immediately opened a broad umbrella over his head, and Harald strode under the manor¡¯s portico to not inconvenience the man.

    House Celestara was grand, though he could only see a fraction of it from here; he got a sense of an expansive facade the color of cream, lit by scale-lights hidden amongst the shrubbery so that its ornate exterior glowed in the gloom. Massive columns supported the portico, and huge wooden doors were open, revealing the grand hallway within.

    Harald buckled his sword neatly at his hip, tugged on the hems of his gloves, and inhaled deeply, ready to enter the house alone.

    That¡¯s when Nessa stepped up beside him, poised and composed. When he glanced at her, she but raised a brow and then slid her arm through his own.

    ¡°This way, Sir Darrowdelve,¡± said the butler, and led them within.

    They were escorted through the arched front doors and across the entrance hall whose white marble floor was veined with hints of gold, the air carrying subtle hints of jasmine and citrus that accompanied the natural scent of the indoor topiaries.

    The delicate sound of a harpsichord reached them from a distant chamber, and then they passed through an archway crowned with intricate stonework into a salon whose walls were resplendent with portraits in gilded frames. Soft, plush rugs muted their footsteps as they passed beneath a grand chandelier, and then they reached a pair of tall doors that were more glass than wood which was flanked by two servants.

    These bowed as they emerged onto a stately balcony where a dining table was set beneath the evening sky. Some charm or artifice had kept the rain away. Fine china and crystal gleamed about the centerpiece of blooms, which echoed the sprawling gardens below, where hedges and flower beds spoke to what had to be a legion of punctilious gardeners.

    In comparison to this beautiful, rarefied home, Darrowdelve Manor felt a dark and gloomy hall, cramped and roughshod, dusty and decaying despite Sam¡¯s heroic efforts. Everything gleamed, been polished to a high gloss, everything was manicured and perfect, every aspect, every detail, every possible element.

    Harald raised his chin as he and Nessa stepped out onto the balcony to greet their host, feeling like an imposter, a crude country bumpkin who¡¯d played at being a nobleman¡¯s son amidst the farm animals that had known no better.

    Three individuals stood to one side of the balcony, glasses of wine in hand, engaged in quiet conversation, and as one they turned to regard the new arrivals as the butler bowed low and seemed to somehow just melt away with a graceful gliding step to the side.

    The first Harald instantly recognized: Lady Yseult Khan, as regal and beautiful as before, but now clad in a black dress ornamented by beautifully filigreed gold in such manner that she still appeared martial; gold gloves, gold vambraces, golden ornamental paldrons, and gold over her chest, with a royal blue cloak hanging to her heels. None of it was actual armor, but the effect was at once striking and projected strength.

    A stern young man stood across from her, his white hair raked back and hanging down to his shoulders, his expression haughty, his face clean shaven. His nose was striking, his brows heavy, and his uniform was of a subtler martial bend than Lady Yseult¡¯s; still, there was no mistaking the military inflections of his epaulets, gold chain, and the rapier at his waist.

    But in the center stood a slight and slender woman whose presence somehow dwarfed that of the other two despite her being the least physically imposing. Her white hair was bound back in an elegant bun, and she wore a high-collared black dress with delicate needlework in gold across its fabric. Her brows were dark and strong, her lips rouged, and her eyes accentuated by dusky makeup, yet to Harald¡¯s surprise she appeared to be in her late twenties, perhaps early thirties, just like Lady Khan. Trim, elegant, and with a piercing stare, she studied them both as they approached.

    ¡°Lady Melesinde Celestis,¡± said Harald, bowing to just the degree Vic had instructed him. ¡°We are honored to be welcomed in your home. May I introduce Lady Evernessa Ermarine?¡±

    ¡°Sir Darrowdelve.¡± Lady Celestis¡¯ tone was clear, crisp, complex; it seemed as if her gray eyes smiled even as her expression remained sober. ¡°Lady Ermarine. Be welcome at Celestara Hall. Let me introduce my brother, Lord Vargrave Celestis, and you of course have met my elder sister, Lady Yseult Khan?¡±

    There were bows and nods on all sides, though Lord Vargrave continued to frown subtly at Harald as if he suspected¡ªbut wasn¡¯t certain¡ªthat a bad smell was coming from his guest.

    ¡°I was honored more than I could reasonably bear,¡± said Harald, trying for a smile. ¡°I believe Lady Khan is ranked third in all Flutic by the Gazette? It took all my decorum to not embarrass her with adulation.¡±

    Lady Yseult smiled. ¡°Yet you are the man of the hour, Sir Darrowdelve. The future of our city will be defined by the deeds of raiders and heroes such as yourself.¡±

    ¡°Which is why I am glad you accepted my invitation,¡± said Lady Celestis smoothly. ¡°You have yet to swear your oath to any other House?¡±

    ¡°I am as of yet a free agent,¡± said Harald.

    Lady Celestis smiled a quiet, private smile, and her gray eyes gleamed. ¡°Good. Though it is my hope that won¡¯t be the case by the end of the night. Please, sit. We have much to discuss.¡±

 Chapter 61

    Not what I expected, thought Melisende as she sat at the head of the table. That pleased her. She searched for predictability in politics but despaired of it in person; the hulking youth who was even now smiling gratefully at the servant pulling out his seat was not what she¡¯d imagined when she thought of Darius Darrowdelve¡¯s son.

    A thousand subtle details were revealing themselves with each passing moment. The dynamic between him and Lady Ermarine was fascinating; then again, Lady Ermarine¡¯s presence here was fascinating in and of itself. A provocation on Harald¡¯s part? An unwitting faux pas? Was she meant to read into Evernessa¡¯s status as an indication of what Harald desired, or was his desire much more prosaic?

    ¡°Your first foray into the dungeon was remarkable,¡± said her brother, his tone predictable in all its overtones. ¡°To harvest such a wealth of scales from the 4th is almost unbelievable.¡±

    Harald froze, clearly picking his response, but Melisende took up her glass, ensuring that the glittering crystal drew everyone¡¯s eye as she leaned back, effecting casual amusement. ¡°Josse, we haven¡¯t even been served the aperitifs. Let¡¯s leave the grilling to the chefs, shall we?¡±

    Josse¡¯s dark gaze glittered as he stared at her, but then he inclined his head stiffly, all affronted etiquette. ¡°Of course, sister.¡±

    Oh, Josse.

    Harald¡¯s relief was obvious, though he sought to mask it well. He sat, if not at ease, then at attention, like a hunting dog awaiting the signal to break into the field. Alert to a fault, as if a moment¡¯s relaxation might cause him to miss a crucial cue.

    He wasn¡¯t wrong.

    ¡°Though I can¡¯t fault my brother for his curiosity,¡± continued Melisende. Best not to remove the pressure altogether. ¡°You¡¯ve become the talk of the town, Sir Darrowdelve. How have you fared under all this scrutiny?¡±

    A gentle, opening bid.

    Harald smiled politely. A pity, those teeth, and those features, even; but he was quite striking. It happened to every raider who met with some success, that halo of intent, that fierce presence. It came from their manifesting the ability to slaughter monsters. And Harald, well, there was something intimidating about him, even as his manner was almost innocent. He wasn¡¯t aware of it, that was clear; if he was a hunting hound, then he was a bull mastiff who still thought himself a pup.

    ¡°It¡¯s been intense,¡± allowed Harald. ¡°And slightly bewildering, to be honest. I still can¡¯t believe I merit this level of interest.¡±

    ¡°Come,¡± said Melisende, raising her wine to her lips. ¡°The Gazette made your accomplishments clear, and your heritage is a storied one. You can¡¯t claim to be surprised?¡±

    Harald glanced at Evernessa. A source of strength? ¡°Unfortunately, I¡¯ve avoided my father¡¯s path until recently. This is all quite new to me.¡±

    Yseult leaned back, her leather ensemble practically creaking. ¡°You¡¯ve taken to it well.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve had good teachers,¡± smiled Harald, glancing at Evernessa again.

    ¡°You¡¯ve been instructing Harald in the blade?¡± asked Melisende, keeping her tone light. ¡°I recall hearing that you were inordinately talented, Lady Ermarine.¡±

    Evernessa had been sipping her wine, gaze flicking back and forth, her expression at once subtle yet all too sharp. ¡°He¡¯s proven an apt student.¡±

    Her brother leaned forward. ¡°If I may be so bold, my lady, you are part of Sir Darrowdelve¡¯s party? May I ask your class?¡±

    ¡°I am indeed,¡± she replied, inclining her head. ¡°Bladeweaver.¡±

    ¡°A rare class,¡± said Yseult. ¡°No wonder you¡¯ve had such success with Sir Darrowdelve.¡±

    ¡°The credit is all hers,¡± agreed Harald. ¡°I couldn¡¯t tell my Tower stance from the Tail when we began.¡±

    He was so quick to deflect praise. Natural modesty, or a calculated ploy? Regardless, it was a fascinating stratagem for someone fishing for House patronage, unless, of course, he wasn¡¯t. Or perhaps he was simply that artless.

    Her sister pressed the attack. ¡°Have you followed in her steps, Sir Darrowdelve? Are you a Bladeweaver.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯m not.¡±

    The pause grew protracted.

    Josse laughed stiffly. ¡°Is this to become a guessing game, then?¡±

    Nessa¡¯s smile could have cut throats. ¡°We¡¯d be here all night if it was.¡±

    Josse, predictably, flushed. ¡°You doubt my ability to deduce his class?¡±

    ¡°If you¡¯re so confident,¡± said Nessa, ¡°how about a wager?¡±

    ¡°Or we could respect our guest¡¯s desire for privacy,¡± said Melisende.

    ¡°A wager?¡± Josse¡¯s gaze narrowed. ¡°On the condition that he answer five questions honestly.¡±

    ¡°Giving you in turn five guesses only,¡± said Nessa. ¡°Yes or no questions. Harald?¡±

    ¡°If his lordship insists.¡± Harald was clearly uncomfortable.

    ¡°And the stakes?¡± asked Josse.

    This was going to happen. Melisende could crush it, but knowing when to give Josse free reign was crucial in ultimately keeping him at heel. So she leaned back, affecting a mildly interested expression.

    ¡°Your silence for the rest of the night,¡± said Nessa sweetly.

    Josse¡¯s expression darkened considerably.

    Yseult glanced at Melisende, but she gestured to let the moment continue.

    ¡°Then if I guess correctly, Sir Darrowdelve will reveal the source of his fortune.¡±

    Evernessa glanced at Harald, who grimaced. Where Evernessa was smooth as black ice, he appeared flustered and dismayed. ¡°If that¡¯s what you wish, my lord.¡±

    ¡°Challenge accepted,¡± said Josse, who leaned forward, mouth curling into a sneer. ¡°My first question.¡±

    *

    The harlot. Oh, but she knew what she was doing, that was clear, waltzing in here with her provocative dress and streetwalker¡¯s eyes. Daring him to explode, to stoop to her level.

    But no. For a moment he¡¯d been tempted to make the stakes personal. To demand she accompany him to the Drakenhart Ball next week so that he could torment her at leisure. But this was an opportunity to show his sister he had changed.

    So: ¡°Is your class primarily combat-oriented?¡±

    Harald inclined his head. ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°Of course. But a necessary precursor to my next questions.¡± Josse fought to keep from smiling. Nothing was more satisfying than the hunt. ¡°Is your class primarily focused on close quarters combat?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± said Harald again.

    ¡°Bravo, brother,¡± said his eldest sister. ¡°You¡¯ve narrowed it down to perhaps a thousand possibilities.¡±

    ¡°Have faith, sister,¡± smiled Josse, but he could have thrashed her. Well. If that were remotely within the range of his abilities. ¡°Is your class associated with a particular alignment or ethos, such as light, darkness, or neutrality?¡±

    Harald hesitated. The man wasn¡¯t the insipid brute he¡¯d first appeared to be, that much was clear. There was calculation in his eyes, but no fear. ¡°¡­No.¡±

    His manner of response had given much away. Unable to restrain his energy, Josse rose to his feet and began to pace around the table, hands linked behind his back. Two questions left. A class that was martial, close ranged, and closely associated to an alignment or ethos without being directly aligned. ¡°Does your class specialize in solo combat, or does it thrive in group dynamics and leadership?¡±

    ¡°Yes or no questions,¡± said Nessa.

    ¡°Fine,¡± snapped Josse. ¡°Does your class specialize in solo combat?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°One left,¡± said his younger sister. As always she was impossible to read, but he knew her well enough to understand the stakes. If he pulled this off, he¡¯d earn praise. If he failed, scorn. Such was always the case. Solo, martial, close combat, with an alignment or ethos aspect. Which, given Harald¡¯s acquisition of some 10,000 scales indicated¡­

    Josse placed his hands atop his chair back and leaned forward, scrutinizing Harald closely. ¡°Does your class draw power from an external entity or source, like a demon, angel, or the essence of a particular environment or concept?¡±

    Harald tensed.

    Ah ha.

    Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    Trepidation, guilt, uncertainty. Nothing he was proud of, at any rate, which indicated he wasn¡¯t chosen by one of the angels or the Fallen Angel herself.

    ¡°Five guesses,¡± said Nessa, sounding bored.

    ¡°I¡¯m well aware.¡± Josse considered, sifting through the possible candidates. Marginally associated with an ethos or concept and deriving power from either a demon or concept. Add in a healthy measure of squirming and guilt, and the options were precious few.

    ¡°First guess.¡± He hesitated, then went with the most obvious. ¡°Shadowbound Berserker.¡±

    ¡°Good guess,¡± allowed Yseult.

    ¡°No,¡± said Harald.

    ¡°Demonkin Gladiator.¡±

    ¡°Josse,¡± admonished Melisende, because she had to. The implication was stark, the insult clear.

    ¡°No.¡±

    Josse hesitated. ¡°Nether Revenant.¡±

    Nessa let out a bark of laughter. ¡°Now that¡¯s insulting.¡±

    Josse glared. ¡°I¡¯m not faulting his features. Nether Revenants are returned to the full blush of health.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± said Harald.

    ¡°Two guesses left,¡± sighed Evernessa, smiling sweetly at him.

    ¡°Void Knight.¡± Perhaps he followed in his father¡¯s footsteps?

    ¡°Hmm,¡± agreed Yseult, her mind clearly running along a similar channel.

    ¡°No.¡±

    Josse stepped back, nonplussed. There weren¡¯t many options left that met the criteria. Harald met his gaze with flat equanimity. He drew his power from an entity or concept, something that was close to an ethos, something with moral overtones. That moment of awkward hesitation, it had evinced¡­ shame? Concern? A Blighted Champion? Such wielded the toxic energies of the more cursed levels of the dungeon, transforming their detrimental effects into raw, destructive power¡­ but at the potential cost of their humanity.

    Possibly. But it didn¡¯t feel right.

    A Hellforged Duelist? Could he have forged a direct conduit with a demon, such that he drew fuel from the fiery depths of the dungeon to enhance his combative edge?

    The lumpen oaf met his gaze with a flat, empty stare. The nervousness had evaporated, the hesitation. Josse knew his own glare could be unnerving; he¡¯d seen more than one raider fall apart before the lash of his tongue, knew his stare to have ferocious weight. But Harald was only growing tougher by the moment, not at ease like Evernessa, but¡­ unyielding.

    As if that which made him Harald, that polite, bumpkin knight of a raider, were simply evaporating away, leaving behind¡­

    Josse smiled. ¡°Ah. I have it.¡±

    Evernessa inclined her head to one side. ¡°Go on then, my lord. Prove that miracles really do still happen in this sordid city of ours.¡±

    ¡°Abyssal Marauder.¡±

    *

    For a single terrifying second Nessa thought the prick had guessed correctly. A lifetime of training kept her composed, her crooked, mocking smile on her lips, but then he revealed his ignorance and she relaxed.

    ¡°No,¡± Harald said, voice steady, almost emotionless.

    ¡°Alas.¡± Nessa weaponized her smile. ¡°It would seem you have lost, my lord. Such a shockingly unpredictable outcome.¡±

    There was danger here. This was a man who believed himself not to be trifled with. Oh, but how many had she met, over the years? Bullies and bastards, convinced that they were the stars of their own legends in the making, perpetually shocked and outraged that the rest of the world didn¡¯t feel the same?

    She could see the sadistic fury in his gray eyes. Could imagine just what he was feverishly wishing he could do if protocol didn¡¯t constrain him. Even now, in this tense second, he was no doubt swearing vengeance for this humiliation.

    Well, let him come. She was more than capable of matching the edge of her tongue with the edge of her blade.

    With great effort Josse inclined his head. ¡°It would seem my confidence was misplaced. Your mystery, Sir Darrowdelve, is even more intriguing for it. I shall excuse myself. Sisters.¡±

    And with a sharp bow, he quit the balcony, radiating fury.

    Nessa settled back into her seat, wine glass in hand. She couldn¡¯t wait to see how the vaunted Melisende would respond to this setback. The tone of the dinner, the orchestrated nature of the seduction, the initiative, all had been reversed. That she would, Nessa had no doubt; the leader of House Celestara was by all respects a lethal prodigy. How would she play it?

    Melisende remained completely at ease. It was an impressive show; she betrayed none of the frustration that her brother¡¯s blunder must have aroused. ¡°Josse was correct on one account; your mystery is indeed fascinating. As is your friendship with Lady Ermarine. May I inquire when and how you met?¡±

    Ah. And neatly phrased so that Nessa couldn¡¯t answer for Harald without making him appear coddled and weak.

    ¡°We met some four years ago,¡± said Harald. ¡°Or just a little more than that now, wasn¡¯t it, Evernessa? We were introduced at a theater, but the name of the production escapes me.¡±

    Nessa smiled demurely. To call that performance a ¡®production¡¯ was to put lipstick on a pig. It had taken place at the now-closed Ravenous Hog, a former favorite of Vic¡¯s for the licentious displays performed on a crude central stage by the men and women who worked there. ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± she agreed, pretending to remember. ¡°You were quite overcome by the artistry. I could hardly get a word out of you all night.¡±

    Harald¡¯s eyes gleamed. He¡¯d been so shocked by what the two women had been doing to the man on stage that he¡¯d gulped down an entire bottle of wine while looking everywhere but at the people Vic was trying to introduce him to.

    ¡°It was a¡­ stirring performance,¡± agreed Harald. ¡°I¡¯d never seen such¡­ dedication to the craft. They really got into it.¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡± Nessa fought the urge to laugh. ¡°I recall it made quite the impression on you.¡±

    ¡°Four years ago?¡± Melisende¡¯s smile was innocent. ¡°A time of mourning for you both, I would imagine.¡±

    That killed their humor. Four years ago Darius Darrowdelve had disappeared into the dungeons, never to return, while Nessa had quit her home, determined to never benefit from her father¡¯s wealth or name again.

    Obviously Melisende knew the particulars. What else did she know? How deep had her research gone?

    Nessa turned to their hostess and one of the most powerful women in all of Flutic with a genial smile. ¡°You know what they say. The deeper the dungeon level, the more beautiful the scales.¡±

    ¡°If you¡¯ve the presence of mind to seize them,¡± agreed Melisende. ¡°We all have wild moments in our lives, I suppose. Times when we feel disconnected from all responsibilities and consequences. Would that it could remain so. Ah, here is the soup.¡± She smiled brightly as servants began setting dishes before them. For a moment all was clinking and expertly placed bowls, the red soup giving off a rich and creamy aroma. Glasses were refilled, and Yseult began to inquire politely as to their charter and crew, asking technical questions that passed the time, making conversation as they sipped their soup.

    Melisende was clearly content to let her older sister take the helm. Her expression remained curious, polite, confident. Nessa didn¡¯t let her guard down. Their hostess had drawn an inch of steel, conveying her message to Nessa without needing to draw the blade.

    *

    Harald took refuge in the food; Nessa¡¯s presence by his side had been meant to be comforting, but instead she felt dangerous and unpredictable, alert to undercurrents he couldn¡¯t sense while gleefully loosing arrows at their hosts.

    But food was safe. And delicious. And Lady Yseult was clearly smoothing over the chaos of the first few moments with polite questions and fascinating observations about the dungeon. She didn¡¯t monologue, but rather invited their thoughts on matters she was clearly an expert on without then refuting or boring them with her response.

    Harald relaxed by slow degrees. Nessa seemed content to converse with the highly ranked raider, and Melisende occasionally prompted new lines of conversation through incisive questions. Nessa only had to step on his foot twice to prevent him from explaining too much about their charter and the nature of their goals, and both times he thought he recovered gracefully.

    Finally the last dish was cleared away, and they all rose to enter the salon for brandy. The fireplace was crackling, and Lady Yseult politely drew Nessa aside to show her an ancient blade mounted on the far wall.

    Nessa, aware of what was taking place, but unable to refuse, cast Harald a warning glance before following.

    ¡°Well.¡± Melisende stood before the massive fireplace, sifter in hand. The firelight played over her features, and for a moment she appeared tired, faint wrinkles at the corner of her eyes, her gaze distracted.

    Harald resisted the urge to fill the silence.

    She smiled and raised her gray eyes to him abruptly, as if returning to herself. ¡°Harald. May I call you such? I have enjoyed your company, which is a relief.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, Lady Celestis. I can honestly claim the same.¡±

    ¡°Melisende, please.¡± She returned her gaze to the fire. ¡°You are that rarest of things, a mystery that doesn¡¯t easily yield itself to cursory examination. I¡¯ve taken the liberty of having you investigated by my agents, and their reports have only confused me more.¡±

    Harald hesitated, unsure as to how to respond to such a bald revelation.

    ¡°Oh come,¡± smiled Melisende. ¡°You must have known I would do my due diligence. But despite my attempting to piece together the puzzle pieces, I have yet to gain a sense of the whole. What is it you desire, Harald?¡±

    ¡°What do I desire?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡± She smiled warmly again. ¡°Too often we lords and ladies presume to know how best to tempt or reward those whose service we wish to enlist. But I¡¯ve found it far simpler and more efficient to just ask. So.¡±

    ¡°I¡­I wish to rise in power and become a successful raider.¡± He hesitated, wondering if there was else he could add. ¡°And to do so with my crew. I care deeply for my friends.¡±

    ¡°Admirable.¡± Melisende studied him. ¡°To be frank, I am aware of the scope and nature of your debts. Are they what propel you to raid the dungeon?¡±

    Harald broke eye contact, some residual shame from his past self making it easier to gaze into the flames. ¡°No, my lady. I have accepted the consequences of those debts.¡±

    ¡°What if they could be erased?¡±

    He cut a look at her. ¡°By House Celestara?¡±

    She shrugged on shoulder languidly. ¡°Yes. Hypothetically speaking.¡±

    ¡°Lady¡ª¡±

    ¡°Melisende, please.¡±

    ¡°If we are being frank, I still don¡¯t understand why you and the other Houses are so willing to invest so much in me.¡±

    ¡°The answer might bore you, seeing as it has much to do with economics, but a truth that has been made evident to me time and again since assuming control of my House is that economics is the driving force in our world.¡± She smiled sadly. ¡°For centuries Flutic has depended on the wealth harvested from the Fallen Angel to rise in power and exert hegemony over the Continent. But the very scales that elevated our city to a metropolis of unrivaled power are proving to be our downfall. You have seen the dead scale-lanterns, the rusting scale-golems, the abandoned trains?¡±

    ¡°Of course.¡±

    ¡°They are but the most visible aspects of Flutic¡¯s decay. For two centuries scales were harvested from the Fallen Angel at such a rate that we had more power than we knew what to do with. But that surfeit of power was a curse. Why develop our mundane technologies when we could fuel wonders with scales? Why create a military complex when we could field high level raiders that could destroy entire battalions by themselves? Why treat the other nations and civilizations with respect when we were clearly chosen for greatness by the divine?¡±

    Harald listened to her soft voice with wonder and sharp focus. He¡¯d heard intimations of all this before, but never from someone so uniquely placed as to speak with such authority.

    ¡°And then?¡± Her smile was wry. ¡°The rate of scale extraction began to fall. This is commonly known. The upper levels of the dungeon began to play out like an overworked mine. For a century sheer momentum kept everything going, but Flutic has grown hollow. For centuries we imported everything we needed from abroad, and now those traders and nations set the terms. We can no longer refuse them entry to the dungeon even as our own wealth dries up. The ranks of the church are bloated to such excess that one in six citizens of Flutic are Seraphites and exempt from taxation and labor, and our fledgling industries are woefully behind the advances of other nations.¡±

    Harald didn¡¯t know what to say. Such words were¡­ if not heretical, then shocking in the extreme coming from a grandee of Flutic.

    ¡°And where are we today, as a city-state?¡± Melisende¡¯s smile remained gentle. ¡°A half-dozen Houses squabbling for glory in the shadows of our past. A city of gold built atop a foundation of clay. Our economy is on the verge of collapse, and motions are debated every year to adopt the Manheim currency since our own proves ever more insufficient to our needs. Houses boast regiments of elite raiders but strain to nurture new talent. And all the while our competitors watch and sharpen their knives, awaiting the day when they can march on our walls and conquer the City of the Fallen Angel.¡±

    Melisende reached out and touched Harald¡¯s elbow. ¡°You ask why we are all so eager to court your loyalty? It¡¯s because the end is upon us. Flutic will soon collapse, either under its own weight, or conquered from without. Every House is in need of miracle workers, men and women who can wring blood from stones, the heroes of tomorrow. Once a first raid such as your own might have been commonplace. Today? It is unheard of. And while the other Houses might wish to recruit you to further their own glory, I wish to enlist your aid in saving Flutic itself.¡±

    Her smile remained wry even as her gray eyes shone. ¡°That is why I have invited you here tonight, Harald. Because House Celestara is the sole House preparing for the fall of Flutic. But to be ready, to have a chance of stemming those blood-dimmed tides, we¡¯re going to need to field the very best raiders when that time comes.¡±

 Chapter 62

    Harald all but blanched at Lady Melisende Celestis¡¯ words. ¡°You¡¯re saying you¡¯re preparing for war?¡±

    Melisende turned back to the fireplace. ¡°It¡¯s not coming tomorrow, but it¡¯s coming. Centuries of tradition have blinded us to how suddenly change can come. Perhaps not this year, but very soon, in one manner or another. Which is why I can¡¯t help but marvel at the blindness of my peers. How can they focus on personal glory and wresting a few final scales from the Fallen Angel when such momentous events are on the horizon?¡±

    Harald felt far out of his depth. His father, at any rate, had never spoken of any of this with him. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t presume to speak for the other Houses.¡±

    ¡°Wise. But you can speak for yourself, which is why I asked: what do you desire, Harald? Not just this month, or even this year. What are your long-term goals? And how can House Celestara assist you in reaching them?¡±

    Harald felt that familiar sensation of standing on the edge of a surprise cliff. He¡¯d felt it when Anita Lotheed had spoken to him of House Emberfall¡¯s desire to bring greater equality to the city. And now this, House Celestis¡¯ apparent desire to prepare for catastrophe.

    ¡°I¡¯m a simple man,¡± he said at last. ¡°I¡¯ve not given any thought to these matters, as they¡¯ve been far beyond my ken. For now? I merely wish to grow strong so that when a crisis comes, I can be ready to meet it.¡±

    ¡°Admirable. Grow strong. Given your debts, I presume the number of scales you have at hand will soon dry up, forcing you to raid for greater wealth and continued Ascension.¡±

    Harald pursed his lips.

    ¡°You have in Lady Ermarine a capable tutor, but success in the dungeon requires more than learning the finer points of dueling. There are many foes that can¡¯t be slain with a sharp blade alone. We can provide a variety of instructors with first-hand knowledge of the enemies you¡¯ll face on each level.¡±

    Harald inclined his head, unable to deny the appeal of such an offer.

    ¡°Further, we can embed you with high-ranking Silver and Gold teams to give you a taste of the deeper levels. You¡¯re aware that it takes genuine danger to rise in class level? We can find your edge and then hone it, placing you under just the right amount of stress to fast-track your growth.¡±

    Harald couldn¡¯t resist a glance to where Lady Yseult was keeping Nessa trapped in conversation; Nessa met his eyes, but he was looking at the mighty warrior, ranked third in all of the city. What would it be like to go raiding with the legendary Lady Khan?

    ¡°Wealth, expertise, continuous dungeon raids, and the political and personal support of my family.¡± Melisende was watching him closely. ¡°We could negotiate the payment of your debts, and the restoration of your home. In exchange you would be a member of House Celestara in word and spirit, wearing out colors, representing our cause, and helping me and your new companions prepare for the calamity that is to come.¡±

    Harald sipped his brandy, nodding as his thoughts whirled.

    How could he reasonably say no to such an offer? What more could a Level 2 raider ask for?

    But how could he dream of revealing his connection to Vorakhar?

    ¡°You are far too generous, my lady. But I have already signed a charter with my crew, and Vic and Nessa are already beholden to Countess Sonora.¡±

    ¡°Not a problem. I can speak with Countess Sonora and buy out their contract.¡±

    ¡°If Vic and Nessa are willing.¡±

    Melisende¡¯s eyes gleamed. ¡°Of course. Though I can guarantee that my terms would be more generous than what they are currently enjoying.¡±

    Harald inclined his head, conceding the point. Nessa and Lady Yseult, their conversation finished, crossed the salon to join them.

    ¡°I trust Harald hasn¡¯t agreed to anything too compromising?¡± asked Nessa with a dangerous smile.

    ¡°Oh, Harald is cagier than you give him credit,¡± replied Melisende. ¡°Though I hope I¡¯ve made a convincing case for his joining House Celestara. And yourself as well, Lady Ermarine, if you would like to remain a part of his crew.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re too kind,¡± said Nessa. ¡°You of course outlined the nature of his obligations he¡¯d be shouldering in exchange for such wonders?¡±

    ¡°All in pursuit of the betterment of Flutic,¡± smiled Melisende. ¡°The particulars, of course, are confidential.¡±

    ¡°And the betterment of Flutic must, by necessity, benefit House Celestara equally?¡±

    ¡°If it is House Celestara that strives alone to avert catastrophe, then why not?¡±

    ¡°My memory fails me. For how long have you been the leader of your House, my lady?¡±

    ¡°I assumed control six years ago.¡±

    ¡°Through Wisdom, We Command the Heavens. Isn¡¯t that your House motto?¡±

    ¡°Your memory isn¡¯t as terrible as you claim.¡±

    ¡°Strange that it¡¯s not Through Wisdom, We Save Flutic From Itself.¡±

    ¡°The House motto isn¡¯t up for review.¡±

    ¡°But executing its intent is your purview?¡±

    ¡°How can I be anything but loyal to the spirit of my House?¡±

    ¡°I see. Like all of us, you are helpless beneath the weight of tradition.¡±

    Melisende¡¯s eyes narrowed but a fraction. ¡°I know something of your past, Lady Ermarine. Surely you¡¯re aware of the simplistic but appealing impulse wounded people feel to project anger onto others so as to not deal with their actual pain themselves?¡±

    Nessa raised her chin. ¡°Oh, you¡¯re claiming it is my sordid past that¡¯s relevant here, not your House¡¯s political machinations?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m simply observing that it¡¯s rich for a lady of your proclivities and storied reputation to level accusations of moral indecorum while enjoying my hospitality.¡±

    Harald stood frozen as these barbs were exchanged with ever greater speed. Neither woman ceased smiling, nor did their voices change to anything but a pleasing tenor, but it was clear that it was time to intervene.

    Harald stepped forward, sliding his arm through Nessa¡¯s, and inclined his head graciously to Lady Melisende. ¡°I believe that the time has come for us to depart, my lady.¡± Nessa was all but vibrating under his touch, her smile so predatory that he expected her to begin snarling. ¡°The hour is grown late, and I would hate to take advantage of your hospitality.¡±

    ¡°But of course,¡± purred Lady Melisende, dismissing Nessa with a warm smile. ¡°It has been an eventful evening, but I am glad you came for dinner. My offer stands, and I do look forward to hearing your thoughts on this matter, Sir Harald.¡±

    ¡°And if I may,¡± said Lady Yseult, ¡°I would welcome your accompanying my crew into the dungeon soon. We could visit a level that will challenge but not overwhelm you.¡±

    Harald¡¯s heart leaped. Now that was an offer that excited him. ¡°You are too kind, Lady Yseult. I would only embarrass myself in your company.¡±

    ¡°Somehow I doubt that.¡± Lady Yseult¡¯s gaze was knowing. ¡°Reach out to me at my manor if you are interested. We can arrange something, I¡¯m sure.¡±

    Harald bowed his head, and stepped back to then turn and follow a butler who led them from the fireplace, leaving the two sisters behind, and out through the front doors to where their carriage waited.

    Nessa spoke not a word, but a band of muscle flared into view again and again over the joint of her jaw, speaking volumes as to her mindset. Harald thanked the manservants, assisted Nessa in climbing into the carriage, or at the very least attempted to as she ignored him.

    ¡°Darrowdelve Manor,¡± he called to the driver.

    ¡°No.¡± Nessa¡¯s tone was curt, absolute. ¡°I need a drink without Vic¡¯s asinine wit ruining my mood further. The Black Note.¡±

    ¡°The Black Note,¡± Harald repeated, and the driver bowed his head and cracked his lightweight whip over the heads of the horses as Harald climbed in.

    Nessa stared out the window, taut as a fiddle string.

    Harald was saved from some clumsy line by her sudden hiss. ¡°That cunting flesh-monger. That self-satisfied rooting hog, that duplicitous¡ª¡±

    ¡°Right, so that went well.¡±

    Nessa glared at him. ¡°And you, smiling all the while like a lamb to the slaughter.¡±

    ¡°I thought I held my own.¡±

    ¡°Only because you were oblivious to what was going on.¡±

    ¡°Which is maybe why I brought you?¡±

    Nessa laughed throatily. ¡°You¡¯d clearly have been better served bringing Sam. What was Vic thinking? What was I thinking?¡±

    ¡°What did you expect?¡±

    Nessa sighed and pressed her fingertips to her brow. ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t know. To¡­¡±

    She trailed off.

    ¡°To what?¡±

    She dropped her hand and rested her head back on the seat. ¡°Call it morbid curiosity. Like picking a scab or accepting a drink from an ex-flame. I suppose some of us enjoy being burned.¡±

    Harald studied her. ¡°Melisende clearly did her research.¡±

    ¡°Of course she did. That¡¯s of no surprise.¡± Nessa sounded tired. ¡°It¡¯s partially why I dressed like this.¡± She raised her black-silk-clad arms, stared at herself, then sighed. ¡°Playing the part, I suppose.¡±

    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

    ¡°Vic said you were making a statement.¡±

    ¡°A declaration of shamelessness, I suppose.¡± The fire seemed to have gone out in her. ¡°It worked on Josse, but he was never the true target.¡±

    ¡°Josse¡­ where did that come from? Your antagonizing him so swiftly?¡±

    ¡°I recognized his type immediately.¡± She pursed her lips, considering, head rocking slightly to and fro with the rumble of the coach. ¡°If you¡¯re a woman of low rank and a certain beauty at court, you can¡¯t help but attract them like carrion does flies. They¡¯re all the same. Brutes who want to bruise your flesh, who want to claim you, mock you, make you feel worthless, make you feel grateful for their attention.¡±

    The light of a passing scale-lantern played across her face, highlighting her beauty and the coldness of her eyes. ¡°He was primed to antagonize you from the start. I¡¯m guessing Melisende knew he would challenge your masculinity with provocative statements, perhaps even draw you into a duel so that she could observe firsthand how you handled yourself. To elucidate your stupid mystery.¡±

    She glanced at him, smiled pityingly.

    ¡°Oh,¡± said Harald. ¡°I just thought he was¡­ unpleasant.¡±

    ¡°I know.¡± She looked away. ¡°At such gatherings, nothing is left to chance. If Melisende had her brute of a brother there, it¡¯s because she desired him to act the brute. So I became the needle to his inflated pig¡¯s bladder, and removed him from play before he could enact his role.¡±

    Harald frowned and looked away, suddenly ashamed. How had he completely missed that angle? ¡°And Lady Yseult?¡±

    ¡°She was there to make you feel like a special little boy.¡± Dark amusement crept into Nessa¡¯s tone. ¡°To spin your head with her solemn grandeur and bless you with her regard. There was no popping her, however; she is as she appears, and I could only hope you¡¯d realize her role at the dinner.¡±

    ¡°I did, to a degree. But it still worked. She¡¯s ranked third in all the city. She came to invite me personally. How am I not supposed to be honored?¡±

    ¡°Precisely.¡± Nessa¡¯s voice grew low. ¡°What did Melisende say to you while I was pulled aside?¡±

    ¡°She painted a bleak picture of Flutic¡¯s history and future. That the city¡¯s been hollowed out by its dependence on scales. How we¡¯ve become vulnerable to outsiders who are licking their lips as they wait to strike.¡±

    ¡°And noble House Celestara is the only true citizen left manning the battlements while the others grub in the dirt for scales?¡±

    Harald chuckled. ¡°Something like that.¡±

    ¡°What did she offer you?¡±

    Harald told her. ¡°It seems¡­ excessive. Even after her explanations.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t underestimate the wealth of the old Houses. Five Infinitums aren¡¯t much to one such as her. But moreover, you¡¯ve become a public prize. Whomever claims you will deliver a public defeat to the others, as well as deprive them of a possible future hero.¡±

    ¡°Future hero.¡± Harald rubbed his palm with his thumb, feeling the new calluses he¡¯d developed over the past month. ¡°It¡¯s what I want to be, but it feels¡­ surreal, to have others take me seriously.¡±

    Nessa smirked. ¡°Are you being modest, or are you truly blind to your worth?¡±

    Harald glanced up at her, questioning.

    For a long moment they simply held each other¡¯s gaze, and then Nessa smiled and looked back out the window. ¡°I¡¯ll save the flattery for when you¡¯ve bought me a bottle of wine.¡±

    They rode the rest of the way in silence, down the Eternal Circuit and into the Scale Exchange, that bustling hub of commerce where merchants from abroad gathered to display their wares to the people of Flutic. At this hour only the Night Market was doing business, and would do so till dawn, but there were countless upscale taverns, inns, and music halls attracting those with scales to spend.

    They alighted a block from the Black Note, the carriage prevented from taking them to the front door by iron stanchions that blocked off the rest of the street for pedestrians only, and then walked, arm in arm, to the quiet tavern.

    Harald tried not to feel a low thrum of excitement at being with Nessa. She was his friend, nothing more. Yes, she¡¯d never looked so beautiful, so refined, and yes, she¡¯d been fey and elusive, hard to pin down and teasing him here and there with comments he couldn¡¯t quite interpret.

    But that meant nothing.

    The Black Note had been popular when his father was young, and though its clientele had faded away, it remained obdurately open, frequented by old loyalists and younger customers drawn to its melancholy elegance. Harald had been once, descending upon it with Vic and the others one night as they¡¯d scoured the city for Nessa, and found her there drinking alone while she listened to a soulful woman sing a wordless song to the sound of a harp.

    The doorman, a sad-eyed giant of a man, waved them through, and they descended three steps into the smoky salon. Tables were placed in circular booths, and the only source of illumination was a handful of scale-lanterns whose light caused the diaphanous smoke from the water pipes to swirl beguiling in the air.

    The place was mostly empty, but a young, bespectacled man was playing the house harp, a slow, meditative song of deceptive complexity. Nessa claimed a small table in a shadowed corner and sighed as she slid into the cracked leather seat.

    Harald ordered a bottle of 777 Verillion from the bar, deciding that the night deserved a little splurging from his few remaining scales, then sat across from Nessa, who ignored him to listen to the music, cheek resting on her palm.

    The bottle was brought, the cork extracted, their glasses filled.

    Harald, hoping for a resumption of their conversation, settled for listening to the musician and sipping his wine.

    When finally the young man brought his trickling, meandering song to a close, there was scattered applause, and then silence.

    ¡°Hmm,¡± said Nessa, refilling her glass. ¡°Nice wine.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re all dressed up,¡± said Harald. ¡°I thought it appropriate.¡±

    She smiled, leaned back, and crossed one arm over her chest as she considered him.

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°You, Harald.¡±

    He shifted his weight. ¡°What about me?¡±

    ¡°How quickly you¡¯ve changed. I suppose I¡¯m actively revising my opinion of you. It was¡­ startling, and pleasing, to see you courted by Lady Melisende, even if she¡¯s a dung-eating vulture.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m starting to get the impression that you don¡¯t like her.¡±

    ¡°I hate anyone who thinks themselves smarter than everyone else, especially if they¡¯re correct.¡±

    ¡°Then how do you tolerate Vic?¡±

    She snorted.

    ¡°So you do hold her in high regard? Lady Melisende?¡±

    ¡°High regard? No. I loathe her even as I admire what she¡¯s accomplished in so few years.¡±

    ¡°Which is?¡±

    ¡°House Celestara was always respected, but now it¡¯s feared. She¡¯s ruthless, which is why I agreed to accompany you tonight. Vic was correct. His presence would have been inappropriate, because if you detect his weakness, he¡¯s too easy to manipulate.¡±

    ¡°He is?¡±

    ¡°Of course he is.¡± Nessa canted her head to one side. ¡°He can¡¯t help but engage in games if flattered just so. Lady Melisende would have wrapped him around her finger within minutes.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s always seemed pretty astute to me.¡±

    ¡°Oh, he is. But he has a weakness for beautiful women who wield inordinate amounts of power. It¡¯s how he allowed himself to become entangled with Countess Sonora. It¡¯s why he¡¯s tolerated my¡­ deficiencies¡­ for so long.¡±

    ¡°I see.¡± Harald considered. ¡°Thank you for coming, by the way. You didn¡¯t have to.¡±

    ¡°You made that clear.¡± She sipped her wine, smile mocking. ¡°But what manner of friend would I have been if I dropped off our favorite little lamb at the slaughter house?¡±

    ¡°Ha,¡± said Harald. ¡°I¡¯m not completely defenseless.¡±

    ¡°No?¡± She affected pleasant surprise. ¡°So you were appropriately suspicious of accompanying Lady Yseult into the dungeon?¡±

    Harald frowned. ¡°I should have been?¡±

    ¡°I told you House Celestara has grown feared, have I not? One of the reasons is because other raiding crews go missing when a House Celestara Gold-team goes below.¡±

    Harald leaned forward. ¡°You¡¯re saying¡­ wait. What?¡±

    ¡°Oh no,¡± sighed Nessa. ¡°I guess he¡¯s a lamb after all.¡±

    ¡°She murders other teams?¡±

    ¡°Nobody knows for sure. But I¡¯ve heard of a half dozen respected Silver-ranked teams going missing while Yseult¡¯s crew is in the dungeon.¡±

    ¡°And you¡¯re saying she¡¯d kill me if I didn¡¯t agree to join while below?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s entirely possible. But more likely she¡¯d make you complicit in some kind of atrocity with which to blackmail you into joining if you insisted on refusing.¡±

    Harald thought of Lady Yseult, her stern manner, her courteous elegance. ¡°I can¡¯t see it.¡±

    ¡°Oh, then never mind. If Harald Darrowdelve in all his wicked experience can¡¯t imagine it, then surely it can¡¯t be true.¡±

    He pursed his lips. ¡°So why did you let me go if you knew it to be just one big trap?¡±

    ¡°Because you couldn¡¯t outright refuse.¡± She finished her glass and he refilled it when she held her glass out. ¡°You know that. The trick is to enter that harridan¡¯s den and emerge with all your fingers. Hence my presence. I played the part of the lightning rod so that you would be spared the worst.¡±

    ¡°You didn¡¯t have to do that. I know how unpleasant it was for you.¡±

    ¡°Oh, it was unpleasant. But yes, I did. Had I not, you would have found yourself tentatively agreeing to all manner of obligations whose consequences you couldn¡¯t foresee. Josse would have hectored and bullied you into making some kind of statement, Lady Yseult would have nobly seduced you into lowering your guard, and then Melisende would have wrapped you around her little finger while praising how strong and manly you were.¡± She smirked bitterly. ¡°Hence Lady Ermarine acting like a dose of piss in their offered glass of wine. I knocked everything askew so that you could slip through her grasp without compromising yourself.¡±

    ¡°Well. My thanks.¡± He finished his glass and refilled it, only to find the bottle empty. The tender, who¡¯d been hovering close by, placed a new bottle on the table and whisked the dead one away. ¡°So Melisende was lying about looking out for Flutic¡¯s future?¡±

    ¡°Only insofar as she failed to mention how she believes her House should be the only one left standing once the dust settles, and she the new Queen of Flutic.¡±

    ¡°Queen?¡± Harald stared at Nessa. ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°No? What else would you call a singular ruler of the entire city who dictates policy as she thinks best?¡±

    ¡°Huh.¡± He slumped back in his seat. ¡°You¡¯re right. She didn¡¯t mention that.¡±

    ¡°Shocking. Here¡¯s a cheat sheet for how to handle all the Houses: they¡¯re one and all full of shit. There. That¡¯s all you need know.¡±

    ¡°Succinct.¡±

    ¡°But accurate. You don¡¯t survive in Flutic if you¡¯ve a charitable bone in your body politic.¡±

    ¡°Drakenhart expends a lot of energy ensuring the streets remain peaceful.¡±

    ¡°¡¯Honor Above All¡¯. Is it any wonder that Sir Gavriel Draken is respected even as his House continues to hemorrhage power and wealth? No, darling; House Drakenhart is the exception that proves the rule: expend energy on anything but cutthroat survival at your peril.¡±

    Harald frowned. ¡°You agreed to work for Countess Sonora.¡±

    Nessa¡¯s smile was cutting. ¡°Haven¡¯t you noticed? I have a weakness for helpless lambs. It¡¯s my downfall.¡±

    ¡°I thought you were going to flatter me.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sitting here, am I not? Dressed at my most elegant and seductive, sharing a bottle of wine?¡± She arched a dark brow. ¡°You should be flattered.¡±

    Harald grinned. ¡°The old me would have been thrilled speechless.¡±

    ¡°But the new?¡±

    Harald held her dark gaze, his pulse racing. ¡°Just sad that you don¡¯t mean anything that you say.¡±

    She didn¡¯t look away, her glass pressed to her lower lip, her gaze speculative. ¡°Are you sure?¡±

    ¡°That you don¡¯t mean it, or that I¡¯m sad?¡±

    ¡°That you regret my not being interested.¡±

    ¡°I¡­¡± Harald trailed off. Was he? In the darkness of the Black Note, Nessa¡¯s beauty was riveting, electric. Her hair gleamed with blue tints, her dress hugged her form to perfection. A thousand times he¡¯d dreamed of a night like this advancing to something more, her lips against his own as she laughed scornfully at his eagerness, her body in his arms, her laughter giving way to moans, to cries of need and passion.

    If you¡¯re a woman of low rank and a certain beauty at court, you can¡¯t help but attract them like carrion does flies.

    His ardor cooled.

    He was still seeing her as the old Harald had. Wishing to possess her. To defy her expectations. To turn her mockery to adoration.

    ¡°No,¡± he said at last, voice soft. ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t need to state the obvious. You know it all too well. But these past few weeks, training with you, fighting with you as our Delve Captain¡­ earning your respect. It¡¯s come to mean much more to me than any of my past fantasies.¡±

    Her gorgeous eyes were slightly narrowed, her expression inscrutable even as she flattened her bottom lip with the rim of her glass, rolling it slowly from side to side. Then abruptly he felt her unshod foot press between his legs, questing and finding him as he jolted upright.

    ¡°Are you so sure?¡± she purred, expression devilish and amused. ¡°We¡¯re both adults, Harald. You don¡¯t want to slip into the alley out back and see how I¡¯d look with my dress hiked up around my waist?¡±

    His mouth had gone completely dry.

    Her foot worked him with suggestive mastery.

    A phrase came to him from nowhere, emerging from the fog of desire and shock in Sam¡¯s voice: I think she¡¯ll always be open to inviting corruption into her relationships.

    For a second he hung transfixed in the balance, her foot massaging his rigid self, making it nearly impossible to think. Her gaze gleamed darkly, her smile crooked, amused.

    But he wasn¡¯t the man he¡¯d once been.

    With great deliberation he set his glass down, pushed his chair back, and rose to his feet.

    Nessa raised a dark brow, expecting him to conform to her every expectation.

    Which is why she looked so shocked when he extended his hand and said with sad courtesy, ¡°Come, Nessa. It¡¯s been a long evening. I think we should call it a night.¡±

    It was in the way he said it.

    There was no doubting his refusal.

    Her face flushed, her brow furrowed, and then she laughed, tossed back the rest of the wine, and stood. ¡°Yes, of course.¡±

    Harald dropped scales on the table, extended his arm to her, and together they left the Black Note.

    Desire burned within his core like a raging bonfire, but his will was absolute. His body suffered sweet torment, but he clamped down on his imagination, his weakness, his desire.

    She didn¡¯t desire him. She merely craved destruction.

    And what they had going was far too precious for him to throw away.

    Nessa walked stiffly beside him as they searched for a carriage. She wouldn¡¯t even glance in his direction. Her arm was tense, her jaw clenched.

    What had happened to her? What depths of pain had she suffered to crave ever more?

    One day he¡¯d ask.

    One day, when he¡¯d truly earned her trust, he would find out.

 Chapter 63

    ¡°I¡¯ll get out here,¡± said Nessa as the carriage rumbled past a broad avenue.

    Harald roused himself from his thoughts, confused. They were still a good ten minutes from the Angelus Quarter, and crossing a bad stretch of the city that bled into the Shambles.

    ¡°Here?¡±

    Energized, Nessa rapped on the ceiling of the carriage, which immediately began to slow.

    ¡°Yes.¡± She flashed him a cold, impersonal smile. ¡°I¡¯ve realized I¡¯m not ready to call it a night.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡± Harald peered out the window. There wasn¡¯t much traffic, and night had firmly fallen over the city. It looked like a warehouse district, which meant the Silver River or one of its off-shoot canals had to be close. ¡°I can ask the carriage driver to take us directly to where you¡¯d like to go¡­?¡±

    Because there was no question of his accompanying her. The atmosphere in the carriage had been brittle and tense ever since they¡¯d left the Black Note. Nessa had sunken into a morose reverie which he¡¯d known better than attempt to rouse her from.

    The carriage rocked as the driver hopped down, and a moment later Nessa¡¯s door opened. She gathered her cloak and purse and smiled again in that perfunctory, distant manner. ¡°Good night, Harald. I¡¯ll see you tomorrow.¡±

    And then she hopped out, pulling her sable cloak about her, and strode off into the night.

    The carriage driver watched her go, scratching at his jowls. He glanced at Harald, clearly wanting to voice his concern, but then simply nodded and closed the door.

    Harald sank back. This wasn¡¯t good. Should he get down and follow her? The very thought made him grimace. Nessa was too alert to miss an attempt to tail her, which would only result in her distant manner becoming scathingly insulting.

    He wasn¡¯t concerned for her safety, so much as what she might do to herself. But that lay outside his ability to control. She was now the Delve Captain of their crew, not a trainer who earned pay as long as she followed his conditions.

    Harald sighed. Not that he blamed her. Darrowdelve Manor had lost much of its charm since Sam had moved out, and with its furnishings sold off, it felt more like a cadaver than a home. Vic would probably be out for the night as well, meaning Harald would be alone in the large, drafty manor.

    Perhaps he¡¯d head down to the gymnasium and do some strength training. But that thought failed to cheer him; laboring alone in the damp cold was fulfilling in some ways, but tended to leave him adrift by the workout¡¯s end. Uneasy, and at loose ends.

    Perhaps he could summon his Shadow Mastiff and see if it wanted to play ¡®fetch¡¯?

    The thought caused Harald to grin, and then he paused. The night was his. He could go where he liked, do what he wanted.

    Why not return to the Dungeon?

    After all, it was open at all hours. With the Goldchops and the Mastiff, it wasn¡¯t as if he was alone. And he need not venture back down to the 27th. He could simply wander one of the Iron Levels, allowing the Goldchops to back him up if he ever got in trouble.

    A flicker of excitement awoke within him.

    But he¡¯d had a long day already. Hadn¡¯t spent most of it fighting and exploring the 27th. He should be exhausted, desiring nothing but sleep¡­?

    Harald frowned. He felt fine. Better than fine. He felt energized, partially, perhaps, due to the dinner and what had happened at the Black Note, but mostly because¡­?

    There could only be one explanation.

    Shadow Fortitude.

    They¡¯d sat in near darkness in the Black Note, and the interior of the carriage was dark as well. Was he drawing strength and endurance from the Passive even now? How much darkness was necessary?

    Harald sat up, discomforted and excited. He¡¯d shied from thinking about this aspect of his new Passive due to its unnerving origin, but there was no denying how he felt now. He wasn¡¯t truly rested, but he could see himself fighting for a few hours in a less challenging Dungeon level.

    A grin carved itself across his features. One of the greatest limitations in any raider¡¯s rise to power was their need to rest. People could only delve for so long before they had to return to Flutic and heal and sleep and restore themselves.

    If his new Passive could grant him extra resilience, the kind that most raiders only tapped when the Constitution reached the high teens, then¡­ well.

    That might change everything.

    And somehow, during these musings, Harald realized he¡¯d already decided to hit the Dungeon. If Nessa had remained with him he might have held back, but now that he was alone?

    The carriage rumbled into the Angelus Quarter and eventually turned onto Baldric Avenue. Harald monitored his energy levels and found that they remained stable. He felt alert and eager. And that wasn¡¯t considering how Dark Vigor and the Goldchops would raise his Constitution¡­

    Harald paid the carriage driver and hopped out onto the curb. Traffic was light but steady; his peers were out and about, paying house calls, attending salons, visiting the less salubrious parts of town to wine and gamble and whore.

    None of that held any appeal.

    Right now he felt as giddy as a man about to go on his first date.

    The Dungeon awaited him.

    Harald let himself into the manor, removing his cravat and gloves and rushed upstairs to his room. Everything echoed strangely, deprived as the house was of tapestries and rugs and furniture to dampen sound. Harald lit a lantern, shucked his fine clothing, and dug out his adventuring gear. Breeches and long-sleeved woolen shirt, broad belt, pouches and daggers, woolen socks and his boots.

    His armor though.

    Harald frowned at the remnants of his leathers. They were thoroughly ruined at this point. The greaves and vambraces might still serve, but the chest and back had simply taken too much abuse.

    A heavy leather coat, then. Better than nothing. He had trouble getting the long sleeves over the bulky vambraces, so he slit the sleeves, but then they just flapped around, so in the end he cut them off at the elbows.

    He didn¡¯t look all that sharp, but who cared?

    Harald went over the contents of his packs. He¡¯d not touched the rations, of which there were enough for two days, but it was time he doubled his water supply. Emergency bedroll, a medicine pack full of cloth bandages, thread and needle, a small bottle of alcohol, and everything else he might need.

    Harald forced himself to just stop. He wanted nothing more than to rush down to the kitchen, grab a new waterskin, and run out into the city, but first he blew out the lantern and sat cross-legged on the floor.

    Heavy darkness washed over him.

    The sounds of Flutic were distant and ephemeral. He focused on his breathing, willing it to slow.

    Was this madness?

    On one level, yes, obviously. You were never supposed to go into the dungeons alone. Especially not at night. Too many accidents could happen. Not only that, but nobody would even know he¡¯d gone till tomorrow morning at the earliest. He¡¯d also spent most of the day already exerting himself to the utmost; it was entirely possible that this energy he was feeling was febrile and would collapse on him when he needed it most.

    And yet.

    He wanted to go back.

    And he had the Goldchops and his Shadow Mastiff. He didn¡¯t need to push it. He could return to the 4th Level, say, and just massacre ashen walkers for a few hours. The Goldchops alone would safeguard him there.

    Harald imagined himself simply striding through corridor after corridor, the twin gold hatchets massacring all they came across.

    A little deeper, perhaps.

    There was no sense in letting the Artifact do all the work.

    So did he want to go? Despite how foolish it was?

    Harald sat with the question, and realized that if anything, he was growing more energized the longer he sat in his dark room.

    On impulse he summoned his window and read the description for Shadow Fortitude once more:

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    Shadow Fortitude: Your weak flesh shall become insensate to the clawing hands of agony, even as the shadows reduce your need for rest and ennoble your endurance.

    This was the Demon Seed¡¯s doing. And the Demon Seed was Vorakhar¡¯s. Which meant this was the demon¡¯s desire, that he push himself, that he continue to grow as rapidly as possible.

    That he make himself the best possible investment possible.

    Wasn¡¯t it enough that in one day he¡¯d raised himself to Level 2, that he¡¯d fought and defeated foes on the 27th Level, that he¡¯d dined with one of the most powerful figures in Flutic, that he¡¯d stood strong against Nessa¡¯s self-destructive temptations?

    Harald read the description for his Soul Ability:

    Condemnation of Success: Every success can be outdone. There is no end for you, for every end is but a beginning, and always will your eye be drawn to the horizon. Every peak shall prove false, and every victory bitter. Nothing shall suffice, and this shall be your goad, your lash, your blessing, your torment.

    A gift, or a curse?

    But he couldn¡¯t deny how it rang true. He wanted more. Defeating the scarecrows already felt like a dim and distant victory. The only way to stand tall against the manipulations of people like Melisende, the only way to make Nessa take him seriously was to grow in power.

    Power.

    It was the true currency of Flutic.

    Until he had enough, he would be tugged and pulled, toyed with and manipulated.

    Power.

    In the darkness Harald closed his fist till his leather gauntlet creaked.

    Time to head back to the Dungeon.

    The Eleventh Bell rang as he rode down to the Dungeon Plaza, and by the time he stepped down from the carriage most of the activity had died away altogether. A truncated line of Humble Petitioners edged toward the Petitioner¡¯s Gate, and nobody stood before the elite gates.

    Harald paid the carriage driver and glanced around the square. The windows of the inns and taverns were lit as adventurers and raiders caroused and spent their hard-won scales. Music bled out into the darkness, along with the scent of beer and cooked meat.

    He felt no pull to join them. To enter those common rooms, to order a drink, to laugh and clap friends on the back, to regale them with tales and catch the eye of a buxom barmaid.

    But that¡¯s what everyone else wanted. They delved so as to carouse. They fought so as to enjoy the fruits of their adventures.

    But they had it backward.

    The delving was the point. All the festivities around him, the nights spent getting drunk, dancing like fools, chasing skirts and having a good time were¡­ well. They were a waste.

    A waste of time that could be spent raiding. Hunting. Killing. Reaping scales, building your scale count, raising your levels, Ascending to new Thrones, acquiring new Artifacts, new Servitors.

    Harald shivered, feeling feverish.

    How did they not see it? Below their feet stretched a mile of adventure and rewards. Miracles and monsters, terrifying beauty and opportunities to define yourself against the greatest dangers.

    Harald shook his head as he set out for the Copper Gate. Once he¡¯d been just like them. Intent on nights at the Kitty Kat Club, breakfasts at the Oak and Acorn, focused on fashion and girls.

    On being liked.

    On having worth in other people¡¯s eyes.

    Harald felt savage pity for that former self. How many years had he wasted? How many opportunities to reap?

    Well, it was time to redress that deficit.

    There was nobody in line. A couple of guards watched him approach, muttering to each other as they leaned on their spears. Harald recognized one of them, the heavyset lady with well-worn leather armor.

    ¡°Welcome to the Copper Gate,¡± she said, but her tone had a new curiosity to it. ¡°The great city of Flutic salutes her brave heroes, and welcomes those guests from abroad who wish to try their hands at the dungeon, etcetera, etcetera. Here, I¡¯ve seen you before, haven¡¯t I?¡±

    ¡°Yes, actually.¡± Harald smiled, feeling chuffed at being recognized. ¡°A few times now.¡±

    She peered at him. Square jawed, her nose kinked by an old break, her brown hair mostly hidden under a utilitarian helm, she appeared a true professional, bored, practical, but very, very competent. ¡°You planning to head down now? Night raiding is more dangerous. Where¡¯s your crew?¡±

    ¡°Just me tonight.¡± Harald hitched his pack up a little higher. ¡°And I think I¡¯ll be fine. I¡¯m not going to attempt anything too crazy.¡±

    ¡°Nothing too crazy. Nothing, say, like going on a night raid by yourself.¡±

    Her partner, a tall, one-eyed man with a bird¡¯s nest tattooed around the blind orb so that it looked like a pale bird¡¯s egg, chuckled.

    Harald smiled. ¡°It¡¯s just that there are all those scales, just waiting down there for an intrepid idiot to come snatch them up.¡±

    ¡°And you¡¯re that idiot,¡± smiled the heavyset woman.

    ¡°Looks like it. The name¡¯s Harald.¡±

    ¡°Susie. Well, if you¡¯re sure. Where was I? All who venture through do so at their own risk and relinquish any right to charge the city of Flutic, the Mining Consortium, or any other governing body with responsibility for what transpires below. The city exacts a forty percent tax on all scales recovered. Do you agree to these terms?¡±

    ¡°Sure,¡± said Harald.

    ¡°Then in the name of the Grandees of Flutic, go forth brave adventurer and wrest glory and honor from the remains of the Fallen Angel. Don¡¯t do anything too stupid, Harald.¡±

    Feeling reckless, he winked at her and stepped over to the taxation counter. The accountant yawned impressively, examined his writ, then ran him through the procedure, handing him his invoice for scales taken in, and then waved him to the platform.

    And over them all, presiding over these banal processes, spun the alien Dungeon Portal. Huge, never still, it spun and vibrated above them, filling the air with a metallic tang and tempering Harald¡¯s fever as he stepped up onto the Copper platform.

    ¡°What level, son?¡± asked the guard, an older man with silvery hair and a thick mustache.

    Harald tore his gaze away from the Portal and considered the guard.

    ¡°Son?¡± The guard frowned. ¡°You with me?¡±

    ¡°Fourth,¡± said Harald, digging out the requisite number of Copper Crescents. For a second he¡¯d been tempted to say something crazy, to push himself to the 12th, say, or even deeper. He knew he could pull it off. Knew he could reap higher benefits.

    But the thought of Sam¡¯s disapproval kept him from leaping into the abyss.

    ¡°When the portal opens, move forward and pass through it without stopping.¡± His tone was curt. ¡°Walk on forward and the Gate¡¯ll take care of the rest. Hesitation can result in a partial teleportation, which can be fatal, so keep moving once you start. Are you ready?¡±

    Harald stowed the Crescents, drew his scale-torch, and summoned the Dawnblade to his hand. It manifested quickly, light and fell, its presence reassuring.

    The Portal ceased its revolutions to present its 4th Pentagon to Harald.

    Harald steeled himself as he strode up into the deepening hole that eroded impossibly fast in the Portal¡¯s pentagonal side, forming a carnivorous tunnel in seconds. Up into the air he stepped, and then he felt himself sucked into the darkness, and left Flutic behind.

    He stepped out of the Portal into a square chamber with no floor. For a moment he windmilled his arms, heart rushing up his throat, and then he staggered back to plaster himself against the wall. Some eight heavy chains descended from the darkness above to sink into the square hole that dominated the chamber, and peering over the lip into the depths, Harald saw that it went down some four stories, each ringed with a similar walkway, the chains losing themselves in a fog far below that was lit by the diffuse blue glow of a haunt light.

    ¡°Fuck,¡± he whispered, getting himself under control. Glowering, he turned to where the Portal stood flush against the wall. Was that¡­ legal? To deposit him right at the edge of a drop? He probably could have grabbed a chain if he¡¯d fallen in, but¡­ damn.

    Blowing out his cheeks, rattled, he glanced around. Two archways led out of this small chamber. From where he stood he could see a few archways on the lower floors, one of them betraying the chill blue radiance of a distant haunt light.

    ¡°Well, fuck you, too,¡± he muttered, hitching his pack up higher. Skirting around the walkway, he stepped into the first arch and looked out into a dark hall. He raised his scale-lantern, but even as he stood there in its coppery radiance, he felt fatigue stealing back into him.

    Was this a bad idea? Should he just turn around and depart while he could?

    Then, on a hunch, he twisted the dial on the lantern, lowering its light to the faintest ebb. When it was just a smolder that lit a few feet in either direction, reducing him to a tiny island of light, shadows pressing in all around him, he felt his strength begin to return.

    Shadow Fortitude didn¡¯t like the lantern. Harald tapped the Dawnblade against his leg as he thought on it. Turning, he glanced into the shaft chamber. Faint, icy blue light ghosted up from below, barely outlining the rough blocks and the descending chains.

    With a flex of his will, he summoned the Goldchops. Fresh strength and agility enlivened him, though its lack of a Constitution bonus was a pity.

    At that thought he snorted: was he disappointed in the Goldchops now? How far had he come that he could ask for more from the twin golden hatchets?

    They floated alongside him, their heads fat and gleaming in his dim lantern light, bobbing slightly as if wafting on unfelt currents.

    Harald summoned the Shadow Mastiff.

    It coalesced out of the darkness ahead of him, barely visible and then not at all as it wrapped the night around it like a blanket. Only its crimson eyes peered back at him, registering something akin to curiosity and mild surprise at being back in the dungeon so soon.

    ¡°I know, I know,¡± muttered Harald. ¡°Just a¡­ an experimental excursion to see if¡­¡± He tried to find the right words. ¡°Just a little fun, I guess.¡±

    The Shadow Mastiff¡¯s crimson eyes narrowed, and then Harald could have sworn they rolled as it turned away from him.

    ¡°Here¡¯s the plan,¡± he whispered. ¡°I¡¯m going to keep my light at a bare minimum and just¡­ run along. You keep ahead and kill whatever you find. The Goldchops will provide roving support.¡±

    The Shadow Mastiff growled low and deep in its chest.

    ¡°I know, I know.¡± Harald stretched, slashed at the air twice with the Dawnblade, then set forth at a walk. ¡°Let¡¯s see how it pans out.¡±

    It was surprisingly hard to walk in near darkness through the 4th Level. With only a few feet but dimly lit before him, it felt like a nightmare, a foot or two of corridor walls slowly scrolling past on either side, the crunch of his boots loud. It was too easy to populate the darkness ahead with ashen walkers, standing in that dazed, half-listing manner of theirs, wasp-nest faces orienting on him even as he walked obliviously toward them.

    Instinct made him want to hedge his steps, to shuffle, to peer ahead myopically. But Shadow Fortitude kept him invigorated in the near blackness, so after a dozen or so steps, Harald forced himself into a jog.

    The Goldchops floated alongside him, placid and reassuring. Soon his breathing was all he could hear, the Dawnblade resting over one shoulder, his pack bouncing.

    The walls on either side vanished just as one appeared directly before him. He slowed, confused, then realized: a T-junction. So, he veered left and continued running.

    He entered a hall and chose to run up a flight of steps set flush along his left. These opened into a broader corridor, and he put on a little more speed, still fighting that half-panicked urge to turn the light up, to slow down, to be more cautious.

    The flagstones and wall blocks scrolled by, repetitive and dismal.

    The Goldchops both flew ahead, abruptly spinning head over haft, to plunge into the darkness.

    Harald, heart pounding, slowed, and turned the lantern up brightly.

    A pack of ashen walkers were falling apart just ahead, the Goldchops having all but flown through their chests, rupturing and bursting them apart and filling the hallway with dust as they collapsed.

    The Shadow Mastiff emerged just past them, having somehow slunk through their ranks, and seized the last one across the hips with its huge saurian jaws. It shook its head savagely, and its teeth tore huge rents in the monster, only for a Goldchop to fly unerringly through its head.

    The Mastiff cast the dead walker aside, then turned to glare angrily at the hatchet.

    Six ashen walkers, dead faster than Harald could react.

    Copper Crescents materialized over each one.

    Harald grinned.

    This was going to work.

    This was going to work just fine.

    He stepped over the corpses, collected nineteen scales, then turned to his Servitor and Artifact. ¡°Ready? I think we can go a little faster this time.¡±

    And once the hallway was nearly completely dark again, he set off at a run.

 Chapter 64

    Blood loss was making him delirious, K¨¢rsek realized. The hall was stretching out before him at impossible length, its lines growing vague and twisting each time he began to lose focus.

    ¡°In mountain¡¯s shadow we wander, lost,¡± he sang tunelessly beneath his breath. ¡°Halls forsaken, iron oaths become rust.¡±

    He grimaced and pivoted on the shoulder he¡¯d been dragging along the wall, turning to look behind him. His ember lantern was almost dead, its single beam devoured by the darkness after only a score of paces.

    Nothing behind him.

    He winced and pulled his hand from the deep wound in his side. The blood was near black across his palm and fingers. The pain was a steady drumbeat that marched in time with his heart.

    Too much blood.

    Wincing, he looked back up the length of the corridor. The Portal. It had to be up ahead. It had to be.

    ¡°Ancient runes lost to rime and frost.¡± He resumed stumbling forward, hunched against the pressing darkness. ¡°Gone the gleam of gold, our ancestor¡¯s trust.¡±

    The ember in his lantern flickered, went out, came back. K¨¢rsek resisted the urge to smack its side. No amount of jostling would renew its source of Earthblood. He had to move faster.

    His thoughts strayed to his dead companions. Back behind him somewhere, falling to that wave of ashen walkers. The sound of Freyka¡¯s screams echoed in his ears once more, and he grimaced, squeezed his eyes shut tight, and forced himself to continue singing.

    ¡°Our feet tread paths beneath starry skies, Far from halls and honored hearths¡­¡±

    A whisper behind him, like a wind through a wood in winter. He glanced back and saw them coming.

    The ashen walkers.

    Five of them filling the breadth of the hall, lurching forward, blind heads twisting from side to side as if seeking his scent. Another row behind those, and then the moving shadows indicating five or six more beyond.

    K¨¢rsek bared his teeth as he fought to go faster. Refused to admit defeat. Sliding along the wall, barely able to stay on his feet, he struggled to stay ahead of the tide of monsters.

    Up ahead. A corner. Perhaps beyond that lay the Portal. Just another twenty yards. If he could reach it. If he could¡­

    A giant black hound prowled into view.

    K¨¢rsek felt his throat squeeze shut.

    It was a vision from a nightmare. Its haunches would reach his shoulder, its burning red eyes were demonic and soulless. Shadows burned off it like vapor from a blade tempered into an oil bath, and it stared at him with disinterested curiosity.

    ¡°Honor dimmed like ember¡¯s fading light,¡± sang K¨¢rsek, forcing himself to stand tall. If he was to die here, it wouldn¡¯t be hunched over like an elder. ¡°But through the eons we hearken to the eternal cry.¡±

    Then two golden-headed hatchets came swirling into view. Too much blood loss, thought K¨¢rsek, as he saw the hatchets slow and turn to orient on his hallway. Or his mind had snapped. That was also technically possible.

    A faint bubble of scale-light grew beyond the corner¡¯s turn, and then a man jogged into view, slowing as he caught sight of K¨¢rsek and his ember lantern.

    A human, a massive example of his kind, nearly twice K¨¢rsek¡¯s height, with shoulders like barn doors and the face of an executioner. He stepped up alongside the hound and rested his hand casually on the beast¡¯s huge head. The twin hatchets swirled at his sides.

    ¡°Forge and fire,¡± whispered K¨¢rsek. A sense of danger radiated from the human like heat from an open oven. Pale his face, gold his shorn hair, and in his hand he held a stone blade of great antiquity and beauty.

    ¡°Forge and fire,¡± said K¨¢rsek again, trying to put some iron into his oath. He straightened. If he was to be slain here, he wouldn¡¯t go down without a fight.

    * * *

    Harald had lost track of how long he¡¯d been running down here. A bell? Two? He¡¯d found the perfect pace and learned to trust the Goldchops and his hound. They destroyed all that they came across, so that not once had he had to use his Dawnblade to defend himself.

    The rewards felt paltry in comparison to what he¡¯d been earning on the 27th, but in a sense, he was being paid to exercise. He kept a steady jog going, navigating the turns and twists of the corridors, occasionally descending or ascending steps, and often looping back so as to not go too far from the Portal.

    Could he convince Sam to do their morning runs here?

    She might find it a bit strange.

    Occasionally he¡¯d find himself starting to lag, despite Shadow Fortitude, and then he¡¯d simply engage Dark Vigor, which would perk him up like a concentrated mug of coffee. But a dawning sense that he was tapping a reservoir that wouldn¡¯t be so easily replenished was starting to come to him, so, with regret, he turned and began angling back to his distant Portal, charging the Mastiff to find the way home.

    Right till he turned a corner and saw a young dwarf slouched against the wall in a pool of his own orange light. The dwarf¡¯s dirty blond hair was tousled and matted with sweat, his eyes sunken with pain, and his hand was clamped to a great messy wound in his sunflower yellow tunic.

    The dwarf called something, but his voice was too slurred for Harald to make it out.

    ¡°Hey,¡± Harald replied, raising his empty hand in greeting as he clumsily dialed up his scale-light with the other. ¡°Do you need help?¡±

    The dwarf¡¯s eyes widened as he straightened, and he seemed to reassess Harald before nodding over his shoulder. ¡°Walkers!¡±

    ¡°Oh, right.¡± Harald willed the Goldchops into action, and they flew down the hall. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about them. Here, let¡¯s fix you up.¡±

    The dwarf¡¯s intense grimace didn¡¯t fade. His beard was little more than a bushy goatee that was twisted into a tiny chin-braid a few inches long, and his eyebrows were bristly and fierce. ¡°There¡¯s too many of them,¡± he gasped. ¡°Run.¡±

    ¡°Nah, I think we¡¯re fine.¡± Harald glanced at the mastiff which was prowling alongside him. ¡°Why don¡¯t you go make sure?¡±

    The mastiff growled in approval and bolted past the dwarf.

    Harald could make out a large group of walkers approaching just beyond the edge of his scale-light. But the Goldchops were already threshing them like a field of wheat, passing back and forth through their ranks and bursting them apart.

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    The dwarf turned to stare at the massacre, eyes going wide once more.

    ¡°You¡¯re fine,¡± said Harald, lowering himself to one knee beside him. ¡°My name¡¯s Harald Darrowdelve. Where¡¯s your party?¡±

    ¡°Dead,¡± rasped the dwarf, but he couldn¡¯t seem to tear his gaze from the Goldchops as they went about their murderous work. ¡°How¡­?¡±

    ¡°Just, you know. A great Artifact. My dad left it to me.¡± Harald studied the wound. It looked like a walker had gauged a huge hole through the dwarf¡¯s side. How he was still standing Harald couldn¡¯t begin to guess. ¡°Here. Absorb this.¡± And he dug out an Golden Dawn from his pouch.

    The dwaft finally looked away from the massacre, saw the precious scale, then glanced up at Harald, eyes wide. ¡°You¡¯re¡­ you¡¯re sure?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think you¡¯ve much of a chance without it.¡±

    ¡°The name¡¯s K¨¢rsek,¡± rasped the dwarf, and pressed his fingertips to the scale, absorbing it.

    Color immediately returned to his features, which proved to be tanned and ruddy, with the faintest hint of freckles across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. His eyes were a deep, piercing green flecked with gold, and he had to be a teenager by dwarven years, given how short his beard was.

    ¡°Ah,¡± exhaled K¨¢rsek, examining the vanished wound and inhaling deeply. ¡°That¡¯s a sight better. Thank you, Master Darrowdelve. You¡¯ve assuredly saved my life.¡±

    ¡°Didn¡¯t look good, I¡¯ll give you that.¡± Harald tried for a smile. The young dwarf¡¯s natural disposition seemed to be fierce intensity, which made it had to act relaxed. ¡°Anybody else in need of helping?¡±

    K¨¢rsek¡¯s brow lowered as he frowned deeply, and then gave a slow, grave shake of his head. ¡°No. I am the last.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry to hear that,¡± said Harald. ¡°Do you¡­ shall we fetch the remains¡­?¡±

    ¡°You are most honorable,¡± said the dwarf. ¡°But though gear can be brought back through the Portals, the dead cannot.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡± Harald winced. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, you¡¯re right. Of course.¡±

    ¡°No apologies needed. I¡­¡± K¨¢rsek lowered his head, and for a long moment simply stood in silence, mastering his emotions. Then he finally raised his face, eyes burning bright. ¡°I would say a prayer over them, however. You are under no obligation to accompany me.¡±

    ¡°No obligation needed,¡± said Harald, rising to his full height. ¡°I¡¯d be happy to accompany you there and back to the Portal. I don¡¯t think you should be down here alone without any weapons.¡±

    ¡°I lost my hammer in the first walker rush,¡± said K¨¢rsek, tone flat. ¡°It twisted away, the head of my weapon trapped in its chest. They came upon us very quickly. Through an archway we hadn¡¯t seen. It was¡­¡±

    Harald resisted the urge to put his hand on the dwarf¡¯s shoulder, or to make a conciliatory statement. Once he might have rushed to do so, to urge the dwarf to not blame himself, to make bland and pointless statements about the perils of the dungeon.

    Now, though, he knew better.

    So he simply stood in silence, giving K¨¢rsek time to wrestle his emotions under control, and when the dwarf gave a jerky nod, they turned and began retracing his footsteps.

    ¡°You are down here without a party?¡± asked the dwarf.

    ¡°I am. I¡¯ve had the good fortune of inheriting a powerful Artifact, like I said, and I recently acquired¡­ you know, I¡¯ve yet to come up with a good name for him. Houndy?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± said K¨¢rsek, tone flat. ¡°Houndy is a bad name.¡±

    ¡°Yeah. Shady? I¡¯m still working on it. But with my Goldchops and my new Servitor, this level isn¡¯t that dangerous for me.¡±

    ¡°Remarkable Artifacts,¡± said the dwarf, admiring the hatchets that floated alongside Harald. ¡°Masterwork?¡±

    ¡°You got it.¡±

    ¡°I used to dream of crafting something so fine,¡± said K¨¢rsek softly. ¡°But fate pulled me from the forge.¡±

    ¡°You can craft Artifacts?¡±

    ¡°I cannot. But there are many dwarves in Dumr?n, far more talented and experienced than I, that can.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s where you¡¯re from?¡±

    ¡°No. I am what¡¯s known as a Tinker Dwarf. My family and clan are descended from those dwarves who were banished or imposed self-exile upon themselves.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡± Harald resisted the urge to apologize. Had he heard of Tinker Dwarves? Maybe.

    ¡°There aren¡¯t many of my kind,¡± continued K¨¢rsek. ¡°We wander the Continent in small groups, doing metalwork wherever we¡¯re needed. I was born in Marheim. I¡¯ve never seen the halls of Dumr?n, and I never shall.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m sorry to hear that.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t be. I consider myself an honorable dwarf and have no regrets. It is my ancestor that brought shame upon my line, and it is he that deserves scorn.¡±

    ¡°Understood.¡±

    They walked in silence for a brief spell, until K¨¢rsek paused, hand outstretched to the wall, and bowed his head. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I¡­ I do not mean to be curt with you. I am not currently myself, I fear.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve got nothing to apologize for.¡±

    K¨¢rsek grunted, clearly not agreeing, and resumed walking.

    They found the bodies only a few turns deeper into the dungeon. Evidence of K¨¢rsek¡¯s blood led them to the site of the battle, where some six walkers lay shredded upon the ground. Two dead raiders lay amongst them. One was a second dwarf, a young woman with thickly braided burgundy hair, while the second was a gangly human in rusted chainmail, his lank blonde hair matted with blood from where half his face had been torn off.

    Harald remained behind, giving K¨¢rsek time.

    The dwarf pulled the two bodies clear of the dead, and arranged them neatly beside each other, draping a cloth over both of their faces. For a long while he just stood there, gazing upon the bodies, but then he began to sing, a low, funereal song in what had to be dwarvish.

    The dwarf was a fine singer, and the raw emotion behind his words gave Harald the chills. The song didn¡¯t go for too long, and seemed to have a looping chorus, and it was on this that K¨¢rsek ended, his hoarse voice trailing off into a whisper, his head bowed, his frame wracked with emotion.

    Finally he knelt and took a necklace from the dwarf. This he pocketed, then he fetched his hammer, a massive block of carefully shaped stone inscribed with runes and turned at last to Harald.

    ¡°I¡¯m ready.¡±

    Harald inclined his head, glanced to Shady¡ªno, not Shady¡ªand commanded him to lead them back to the Portal.

    The Shadow Mastiff took off without hesitation.

    They walked in silence after it.

    ¡°Freyka and I grew up in the same clan,¡± said K¨¢rsek at last. ¡°She was older than me, and we were never close, but we both harbored a desire for something more. Something different than what life with the clan promised.¡±

    Harald nodded, listening intently.

    K¨¢rsek stared straight ahead. ¡°She was wild, Freyka. Given to madness and laughter, to taking great risks and coming out on top. She was fire trapped in flesh, and I was unable to resist her call.¡±

    K¨¢rsek frowned, strode on, hands linked behind his back. ¡°Our clan passed through Flutic a month ago. We come through once every three years as part of the Migration Loop. She urged me to abscond, and I, infected with her madness, agreed. She had saved enough coin and scales for us to survive on, and we hired on with the Free Company, where we met and joined with Larkos.¡±

    The way he said that name indicated a distinct lack of approval.

    ¡°I warned Freyka that he was not to be trusted, but she just laughed and demanded I trust her.¡±

    ¡°What was wrong with Larkos?¡±

    ¡°He promised too much, knew too little, and was a fool. Freyka insisted we were using him for his writ as much as he was using us for our weapons, and I let myself be carried along. But I should have trusted my instincts. The man¡¯s confidence melted away like spring frost when we arrived down here, and Freyka was arguing with him when the ashen walkers surprised us.¡±

    Harald nodded his head thoughtfully, not knowing what to say.

    They walked in silence, accompanied by the Goldchops, which, after a few minutes, suddenly whirred ahead, disappearing into the darkness.

    They both stopped.

    There came the sound of old tapestries being chopped apart, and after a few seconds the Goldchops returned.

    ¡°Incredible,¡± said K¨¢rsek. ¡°A kingly gift your father left you.¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡± Harald chose not to elaborate. ¡°So. I don¡¯t mean to pry, but what are you going to do from here?¡±

    K¨¢rsek looked up at him, surprised. ¡°You saved my life. There can be no question of that.¡±

    ¡°True,¡± allowed Harald.

    ¡°Perhaps you are not familiar with our customs,¡± said K¨¢rsek, seeming to realize the problem. ¡°We dwarves, even we Tinker Dwarves, take the old ways most seriously. Upon emerging from the dungeon, I will swear the heartoath to you, and give you my service for as long you deem it right.¡±

    Harald came to a stop.

    K¨¢rsek looked back at him, stopping a few steps further down the corridor. ¡°Such is the dwarven way. I will not shirk my honor.¡±

    ¡°Look.¡± Harald¡¯s mind raced. ¡°I just freed my last oathbound servant. I¡¯m in no rush to take on another.¡±

    K¨¢rsek frowned, his fierce brows beetling over his bright eyes. ¡°It is of course your choice. But I must pay the life debt that I owe you or be deprived of my honor.¡±

    ¡°All right,¡± said Harald, considering. ¡°Repay the debt. Um.¡±

    ¡°There is no need to reach a decision now,¡± allowed K¨¢rsek. ¡°Nothing worth deciding is decided in a moment.¡± He frowned. ¡°Something I would say often to Freyka, to no avail.¡±

    ¡°You were both only in Flutic for a month, correct?¡±

    ¡°Correct,¡± said the young dwarf.

    ¡°And were staying at an apartment¡­?¡±

    ¡°We rented a¡­¡± K¨¢rsek considered. ¡°You could call it an apartment, yes.¡±

    ¡°Well.¡± Harald scratched the back of his head. ¡°You¡¯re welcome to come stay at my place tonight, then, while we figure this all out.¡±

    ¡°I would not inconvenience you further.¡±

    ¡°Honestly, my home is¡­ well. Pretty big. It¡¯d be no inconvenience.¡±

    K¨¢rsek looked up at him, studying him intently as if seeking some hint of a lie.

    ¡°Look, K¨¢rsek.¡± Harald stopped and faced the dwarf. ¡°What you just went through¡­ I¡¯ve been there. My first foray into the dungeon? I was nearly torn apart by dire rats on the 1st Level. And on the same day the crew I¡¯d put together betrayed me and tossed me aside. I know what it¡¯s like to need to hold it together even as everything inside of you is wanting to fall apart.¡±

    K¨¢rsek¡¯s bright eyes gleamed wetly, but his striking features remained otherwise stoic.

    ¡°So just come back to my place, all right? It¡¯s not good to be alone after something like this. You can have a bath, eat some food, sleep, and know that when you wake up you¡¯ll be amongst good people who can help you figure things out.¡± Harald considered. ¡°Well, mostly good people. Vic¡¯s in his own category. What do you say?¡±

    K¨¢rsek swallowed, then nodded jerkily.

    ¡°Good man.¡± Again Harald resisted the urge to clap him on his bright yellow shoulder. ¡°Let¡¯s just focus on getting the hell out of here for now, yes?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± said the dwarf, voice gruff with emotion.

    They walked in silence till they reached the perilous shaft chamber with its hanging chains and Portal embedded against the wall. Harald dug out a Copper Crescent, and the portal activated, coming to black, raging life.

    ¡°You first,¡± said Harald.

    K¨¢rsek stepped up to the exit, hand on the broad head of his hammer where it was slotted into his belt, and stared at the raging magics that shimmered within the stone archway. His lips pursed, his brow furrowed, and then he cut a sideways glance at Harald.

    ¡°I will repay you for this, Master Darrowdelve. One way or another, I will find it within my means to recompense you for not only saving my life, but for your kindness.¡±

    And then the dwarf gave another jerky nod of his head, stepped into the Portal, and was gone.

 Chapter 65

    Harald awoke in his bed.

    It felt strangely luxurious. Confused, smiling, he stretched in his armor and turned to stare out his sunlit windows.

    His body was sore, and he felt a strange combination of over-slept and exhausted.

    But this was nice. Just lying here. He could hear birdsong, the rumble of distant traffic.

    Then he frowned.

    When was the last time he¡¯d awoken this late? It had to be close to Tenth Bell.

    He sat up abruptly. What had happened? He was still dressed in his raiding gear. He even had his boots on.

    This was hardly the first time he¡¯d awoken fully dressed, but usually it was accompanied by a raging hangover.

    That at least was absent.

    ¡°What the hell?¡± He got out of bed and set to unbuckling and removing his leather armor. How tired had he been that he¡¯d slept in all his gear? Luckily he wasn¡¯t splotched in dried blood or filth. Some of the night returned: jogging through the 4th Level and letting the Goldchops do their thing.

    Of course he wasn¡¯t covered in blood. He¡¯d never even had a chance to fight.

    Still, he felt musty and stale.

    Oh wait. K¨¢rsek.

    A vague memory returned to him. Hailing a carriage upon exiting the Dungeon Plaza, then slowly collapsing as exhaustion began to win its battle against his unnatural vitality. He¡¯d called on Dark Vigor upon reaching the manor, just so that he could get K¨¢rsek situated¡­ and then¡­

    Time to see what was going on.

    Grabbing a towel and fresh set of clothing, Harald emerged from his room, listening cautiously, and heard voices coming from the kitchen. He padded downstairs and found Sam, Vic, and K¨¢rsek seated at the broad kitchen table, all of them nursing half-finished mugs of coffee.

    K¨¢rsek had replaced his ruined yellow outfit with a simple tunic that he¡¯d belted at the waist with his own broad belt; his tousled yellow hair was freshly washed, his tanned face free of exhaustion and spattered blood. His bristly brows and striking features gave him a fiercely alert air, and his green eyes caught the morning sunlight slanting in through the high windows so that their flecks of gold near glowed.

    Sam was leaning against the stove, wearing a sharp new outfit. Crafted from supple leather dyed a deep, rich brown, it fit her athletic form like a second skin. The top was a structured bodice, laced down the front and highlighting the strength of her shoulders. Sword at her hip, hair plaited into a practical braid, boots of dark leather rising to her calves, she looked at once ready for violence yet relaxed, capable and confident.

    Harald couldn¡¯t help but marvel. She¡¯d changed just as much as he had these past weeks. Or perhaps, like him, simply begun to reveal what had always been there.

    ¡°Hello?¡± Vic waved a hand. ¡°I¡¯ll be the first to admit Sam is looking quite dashing in her new leathers, but what about my waistcoat?¡±

    Harald laughed. Vic was lounging in the stiff kitchen chair as if it were a luxurious bed, long legs kicked out with feet crossed at the ankles. His waistcoat was indeed sublime; it glimmered as if woven from supple metallic thread, and was patterned with elegant flowers across its breadth. High collared, he wore it open, the buttons and catches hanging loose, to reveal a thick and sumptuous white shirt beneath.

    ¡°Master Darrowdelve.¡± K¨¢rsek stood abruptly. ¡°I want to thank you again for saving my life last night -¡±

    ¡°Oh K¨¢rsy, darling, sit.¡± Vic rolled his eyes. ¡°The first rule of tolerating Harald¡¯s company is to not compliment him. Keep him on the ropes, uncertain, wary, so that he remains pliable. If you go around spouting stuff like that, he¡¯ll become an arrogant monster.¡±

    K¨¢rsek stared at Vic in confusion.

    ¡°Morning, Harald,¡± said Sam, pushing off the counter to pour him a cup of coffee. ¡°I¡¯m surprised you¡¯re up.¡±

    ¡°You didn¡¯t wake me for Sixth Bell.¡±

    ¡°I tried.¡± She handed him the mug. ¡°Briefly. Then decided you needed the rest.¡±

    ¡°K¨¢rsy has been telling us about last night,¡± said Vic. ¡°Harry? Did you go raiding by yourself?¡±

    ¡°Just the 4th Level,¡± said Harald, trying not to sound apologetic.

    ¡°Just the 4th.¡± Vic sighed. ¡°They grow up too fast.¡±

    ¡°Harald.¡± Sam¡¯s tone was stern. ¡°We did the 10th yesterday. And then the 8th. And then you were pulled into the 27th. Where you fought alone for hours.¡±

    ¡°And then,¡± added Vic, ¡°you went to dine with the fabulous Celestis¡¯ siblings. How did that go, by the way? Where¡¯s Nessa?¡±

    K¨¢rsek looked bewildered. He slowly sank back into his chair.

    Harald latched onto the dwarf. ¡°Master K¨¢rsek, you¡¯re welcome here, as I said before, and you don¡¯t need to worry about formalities. The Fallen Angel knows nobody else does. We¡¯ll figure out your, ah, life debt soon, but in the meantime, just make yourself at home.¡±

    ¡°Harald.¡± Sam was still frowning. ¡°Forget the wisdom of going alone into the dungeon in the middle of the night¡ª¡±

    ¡°Which was asinine,¡± added Vic.

    ¡°¡ªhow did you have the energy?¡± Sam look mystified.

    ¡°You know, a little Shadow Fortitude goes a long way.¡± He raised his towel and clean clothing. ¡°Let me freshen up, and then you can interrogate me to your heart¡¯s content.¡±

    ¡°Where¡¯s Nessa?¡± called Vic as he hurried out the back. He crossed the patio to the well, and set to hauling up the bucket. He dunked one after another over his head, spluttering and gasping as he rinsed away the night, and then toweled off. Not really caring if anyone was watching, his stripped, finished drying, then dressed in his clean clothes.

    ¡°¡­ he couldn¡¯t express his gratitude enough,¡± Vic was saying as Harald returned to the kitchen. ¡°You should have seen how he held a sword!¡±

    K¨¢rsek turned his wide-eyed gaze to Harald. ¡°Your friends¡­¡±

    ¡°Barely qualify as such,¡± grinned Harald, pulling out a chair. ¡°But look. Instead of answering a hundred questions piece meal, I¡¯ll just catch you all up on what happened.¡±

    K¨¢rsek stood. ¡°I will excuse myself while you discuss confidential matters. Master Darrowdelve, I¡¯ll await you in the garden?¡±

    ¡°Sure.¡± Harald almost bid the dwarf stay, but waited till he was gone to turn back to his friends.

    ¡°Nice guy, for a dwarf,¡± said Vic. ¡°You going to accept his life-oath?¡±

    ¡°Of course he isn¡¯t,¡± snapped Sam.

    ¡°All I¡¯m saying,¡± protested Vic, raising both hands, ¡°is that we need someone to start collecting my laundry and bringing me food at night when I¡¯m peckish. I¡¯m just trying to be reasonable.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± said Harald pointedly. ¡°I¡¯ll figure out how to handle K¨¢rsek soon. But as for yesterday¡­¡±

    He recounted dinner. Nessa¡¯s interference with Melisende¡¯s plans, how she¡¯d flushed Josse out, and then complicated the final pitch.

    ¡°Well done, Nessa,¡± said Vic. ¡°You see why I wished her to go with you?¡±

    ¡°To a degree. It hurt her, going there. Melisende knew about her past. She all but threw it in Nessa¡¯s face at the end. She was really upset, and insisted we go to the Black Note after leaving.¡±

    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

    ¡°Good music,¡± agreed Vic. ¡°And?¡±

    ¡°Well.¡± Harald tried not to blush. ¡°I think Melisende¡¯s needling made her¡­ aggressive. Destructive.¡±

    ¡°What happened?¡± asked Sam, sitting next to him.

    ¡°She¡­¡± Harald laughed huskily. ¡°I don¡¯t know. Tried to tempt me. But only so as to fuck everything up. I refused, and then she got¡­ not mad, but¡­¡±

    ¡°Nessa doesn¡¯t tolerate rejection well,¡± said Vic soberly. ¡°What happened?¡±

    ¡°She got out of the carriage close to the Shambles. She was gone before I could stop her.¡±

    ¡°Well, shit.¡± Vic stared off and shook his head. ¡°We¡¯ll see what condition she¡¯s in when she returns.¡±

    ¡°Well done,¡± said Sam. ¡°You did the right thing.¡±

    ¡°Oh, I know.¡± Harald felt miserable. ¡°I¡­ but no. It was obvious. Nessa isn¡¯t attracted to me.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s because you have the face of a rich woman¡¯s lapdog,¡± said Vic apologetically. ¡°You know the kind with their snouts pushed in?¡±

    ¡°Fuck you, Vic.¡±

    ¡°Maybe if you were cuter. So then you decided to go¡­ raiding?¡±

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t even feel like raiding with the Goldchops. I just jogged around and harvested scales while they did all the work.¡±

    ¡°Still,¡± said Vic. ¡°Not smart. Accidents happen. And every so often even a measly level like the 4th can cough up a real threat.¡±

    ¡°Something the Goldchops and my Mastiff couldn¡¯t handle?¡±

    ¡°Well, probably not. But Harry, nobody even knew where you were. If one of the Houses sent a raiding team after you¡­?¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡± Harald thought of Nessa¡¯s revelation about how Lady Yseult would make rival teams disappear. ¡°That¡¯s fair.¡±

    Sam shook her head. ¡°I can¡¯t believe you went raiding three times in one day. And are now up and chatting like it¡¯s nothing.¡±

    ¡°Shadow Fortitude is pretty amazing. The darker it is, the more energized I become.¡±

    ¡°Must make sleeping quite restful,¡± said Vic wryly.

    ¡°Maybe that¡¯s why I feel great.¡±

    ¡°Well.¡± Sam was clearly still upset, but moving on. ¡°Where does that leave us today?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll try to find Nessa,¡± said Vic. ¡°If Melisende really messed with her equilibrium, she might need some extraction.¡±

    ¡°I need to help K¨¢rsek get over his debt,¡± said Harald.

    ¡°Don¡¯t take it too lightly,¡± said Sam. ¡°I¡¯ve heard a little about dwarves through Futhark, the smith that¡¯s been helping me. You might insult him if you don¡¯t take it seriously.¡±

    ¡°Fair. But I¡¯ve five weeks till I¡¯m slated to fight Yeoric. I still want to train.¡±

    ¡°Hmm,¡± allowed Vic. ¡°Seein¡¯ as you can¡¯t use the Goldchops or your Mastiff against him, that¡¯s a legitimate preoccupation. But I¡¯ll be honest, Harry: your rate of growth has been pretty stupid. In three weeks you¡¯ve become a Level 2 Abyssal Initiative, raised your stats within a stone¡¯s throw of his, and done quite a bit of dungeon delving. I¡¯m no longer quite as worried as I was.¡±

    ¡°True, but Nessa¡¯s made it clear how unprepared I am to fight a human opponent.¡± Harald forced himself to voice the truth. ¡°It¡¯s one thing to hack an unarmed monster apart in the dungeon, it¡¯s another to fight an experienced raider dressed in full plate and bearing a tower shield.¡±

    ¡°Fair. That¡¯s why she¡¯s been focusing her lessons on dueling, and not monster butchery. But it¡¯s my opinion that you¡¯re both ready for more. I think we¡¯re done with the Iron Levels. The first 12 are good practice, but you need to start fighting intelligent opponents. Once we recover Nessa, I think it¡¯s time we hit the 13th Level.¡±

    Sam leaned forward, eyes shining. ¡°The 13th?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s the goblin level, right?¡± Harald glanced back and forth. ¡°It¡¯s supposed to be¡­ tricky.¡±

    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s tricky.¡± Vic smiled lazily. ¡°But nothing we can¡¯t handle. Still, it¡¯ll be a novel experience for you to fight enemies who use basic strategies and throw javelins. It¡¯s one thing to just lop off outstretched hands, another to have to deal with terrain and ambushes. It¡¯ll be fun. You¡¯ll love it. Probably.¡±

    ¡°Absolutely,¡± said Sam, nodding sharply. ¡°I¡¯m ready.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re adorable,¡± said Vic.

    ¡°How about I talk with K¨¢rsek,¡± said Harald, rising to his feet, ¡°and then we do some training, Sam?¡±

    ¡°I brought my training gear.¡±

    ¡°Good.¡± He walked to the back door then turned with a smile. ¡°And by the way? You look great in that outfit. Really sharp.¡±

    ¡°You think?¡± She beamed even as she blushed.

    ¡°Hey,¡± called out Vic, voice forlorn as Harald walked away. ¡°What about my vest?¡±

    K¨¢rsek had wandered down to the ornamental pool and was gazing into its emerald depths when Harald approached. He turned, hands linked behind his back, then took in the entirety of the garden with a sweep of his gaze. ¡°This must have been beautiful, once.¡±

    ¡°Once,¡± agreed Harald. ¡°But it¡¯ll all be gone, soon. In a little over a month the city is taking it from me.¡±

    K¨¢rsek frowned. ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°I owe too much money. Debts that I can¡¯t hope to repay.¡±

    ¡°Like my life debt to you.¡±

    ¡°About that.¡± Harald moved over to the swing seat and sat. ¡°I already told you that I¡¯m not accepting a life oath from you.¡±

    ¡°Correct.¡±

    ¡°Then¡­?¡± Harald studied the stout young dwarf. ¡°What would satisfy your obligation to me?¡±

    K¨¢rsek frowned down at the grass. ¡°I do not wish to return to my clan. I left hurriedly, and Frejka¡¯s death weighs heavily on me. One day, perhaps, but only when I can demonstrate that my departure led to my eventual prosperity.¡±

    Harald nodded, listening.

    ¡°I am moderately talented in the ways of Vein Whispering,¡± continued K¨¢rsek, ¡°and am a Level 1 Earth Shaper.¡± He glanced up from beneath his bushy brows. ¡°Perhaps I could be of use in the dungeon?¡±

    ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t know what that means. Vein Whispering?¡±

    K¨¢rsek nodded briskly. ¡°Dwarven magic is distinct from all other forms. In the halls of Dumr?n, the great Forge Fathers use the Earthblood to fashion Artifacts of terrible power¡ª¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Earthblood?¡±

    K¨¢rsek frowned. ¡°The¡­ energy that swells up from the depths. The magic of the earth. The essence of stone and rock, metal and gem, coal and fire. The deeper one goes, the more powerful it is. In Dumr?n, the greatest forges and anvils are located caverns of magma, miles below ground, where the Earthblood is so rich that legendary Artifacts can be created.¡±

    ¡°I see.¡± Harald thought he did, but knew he probably didn¡¯t. ¡°I saw a Deathforge Legion led by an Anvil King enter the dungeon yesterday. They had incredible looking Artifacts.¡±

    K¨¢rsek¡¯s expression turned wistful. ¡°I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m glad I didn¡¯t witness that. Frejka went forth to watch, but for me, it was too¡­ painful.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t be. I am a Tinker Dwarf, which means I shall never know the glories of Dumr?n and its ways. Instead, like others of my kind, I have grown adept at Vein Whispering. Earthblood rises even to the very surface of the world. I can sense its presence, here and there, insufficient to craft with, but enough to manipulate the rocks, to work small tricks and stratagems.¡±

    ¡°And this allows you to¡­?¡±

    K¨¢rsek gazed about the garden, expression speculative, and then wagged his head from side to side, as if reaching a compromise. He took a deep breath, extended his hand, and then his whole body tensed.

    A moment later a patch of earth exploded upward, leaving a pot-sized whole behind. The dirt and soil pattered down onto the grass and overgrown bushes, and all was still.

    K¨¢rsek¡¯s smile was chagrined. ¡°There¡¯s not much Earthblood here. But in other parts of the city it grows rich, and in the dungeons especially so. I can raise blocks of stone from the floor or pull them out of the walls for cover; I can create gaps underfoot in front of charging enemies, or part walls so that we may cross through them. That is what my class allows. As an Earth Mover, I have control over the environment.¡±

    Harald nodded. ¡°And as you grow more powerful, you¡¯ll be able to make bigger walls? Things like that?¡±

    ¡°Earth Mover is a humble class, but my honor has never needed a greater,¡± said K¨¢rsek. ¡°But now, owing a life-oath, I hope to become a Stone Shaper, allowing me to fashion armor and weapons from living rock, and one day, if I am blessed and my need be true, become an Earth Sovereign. This would allow me to make stone golems, to alter entire landscapes, and even summon earth elementals to my aid.¡±

    ¡°Damn,¡± said Harald, impressed. ¡°That sounds incredible. But hold on. How do your people level, seeing as the Fallen Angel is here in Flutic? Is there another divinity under Dumr?n?¡±

    K¨¢rsek smiled, eyes gleaming. ¡°We dwarves do not use scales to level as others do. We can absorb them for healing, yes, but they don¡¯t add to our power. Instead, we grow by absorbing the essence from the Earthblood we channel. The more we use, the more it infuses us, and the more powerful it becomes.¡±

    ¡°Oh¡­ so it¡¯s just a case of practicing?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not quite that simple. The rate of advancement depends on the density and purity of the Earthblood, the amount of time that a dwarf can spend channeling it, their natural propensity for the art, and the power of their class. Some dwarves, like Frejka, can barely sense Earthblood no matter how rich it is. Others, like myself, have some talent for it, and can call the power to us, like a volcano calls magma from the depths.¡±

    Harald absorbed all this, nodding slowly, and considered the earnest dwarf. K¨¢rsek stood, resolute and composed, his features fierce and made wild by his bristling brows and tousled golden hair, but his gaze was measured, his intensity deep.

    ¡°I¡¯ll have to speak with the others,¡± he said at last. ¡°But I think we could really benefit from your help. Until at least you feel as if your debt to me is repaid.¡±

    K¨¢rsek bowed stiffly at the waist. ¡°Thank you for considering my offer.¡±

    Harald grinned. ¡°Of course. In the meantime, consider this your home. There¡¯s a lot going on right now, but nothing you need to concern yourself with just yet. Enjoy my hospitality while I can offer it.¡±

    ¡°Thank you.¡± The dwarf looked around the wild garden.

    ¡°Yes?¡± prompted Harald.

    ¡°I¡­¡± K¨¢rsek sounded unsure of himself for the first time. ¡°I enjoy landscaping and tending to gardens. If it doesn¡¯t upset you, seeing as I have some free time, I would enjoy working on your property until you and your crew reach a decision.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t have to do gardening.¡±

    ¡°I understand.¡± K¨¢rsek smiled. ¡°But I derive deep satisfaction from tearing out weeds, clearing flowerbeds, mowing grass, and bringing order to chaos. Life is too¡­¡± He waved one hand abstractedly. ¡°Complex and unpredictable to respond to intentions alone. Gardens, however, reward effort and care. But only if it does not dismay you.¡±

    ¡°We won¡¯t be here for much longer,¡± said Harald sadly.

    ¡°Sometimes a practice is its own pursuit.¡±

    ¡°Then sure.¡± Harald rose from the swing seat. ¡°Though I can¡¯t promise the garden tools are in good condition. Our old gardener, Mickle, used to take excellent care of everything, but he¡¯s been gone six years now.¡± Harald paused. ¡°Damn, I guess it¡¯s been closer to eight. Here. I take you to his shed.¡±

    The gardening shed was hidden behind the old stables, and so covered in vines that it appeared more of an odd bird¡¯s nest than anything else. With much effort Harald wrenched the door open, and peered into the dusty murk with a frown. ¡°We can fetch a lantern.¡±

    ¡°There is no need.¡± K¨¢rsek stepped into the doorway. ¡°We dwarves have excellent vision in all but true darkness. I can see well enough. The tools are indeed hung up in admirable neatness. I believe there is much here for me to work with.¡±

    ¡°Great. Thank you.¡± Harald stepped back. ¡°Then I¡¯ll bring your offer to the others, and tell you what they think as soon as we reach a decision.¡±

    K¨¢rsek gave him a distracted nod, then ducked his head under a wooden vine and stepped cautiously into the gloom beyond.

    Harald stood there for a few moments, listening as K¨¢rsek set about taking down tools and muttering to himself, then walked away with a smile.

    Earthblood.

    The world was full of never ending wonders.

 Chapter 66

    Three days passed before Nessa returned.

    Sam would arrive at dawn for their morning run, and then the day would proceed apace, with Harald and her falling into their old routine. Vic was often on hand to harangue them and oversee sword lessons, but for the most part it was a meditative time, with Harald losing himself in carrying the corpse bag across the gym floor or working on the different solo drills that Nessa had been teaching them before their last dungeon run.

    K¨¢rsek spent his days happily demolishing the jungle out back; whenever he appeared it was with twigs in his hair, dirt smudged on his nose, and a gleaming twinkle of satisfaction in his green eyes. He used Vein Whispering to great effect, pushing the worst roots and tangles right out of the ground, or literally exploding intractable problems. In three days, he achieved a remarkable amount of work, though half of the first was spent just on restoring the tools.

    Vic was unable to locate Nessa, despite picking up on rumors and sightings of her activities; she¡¯d gone to ground, and he gave up after his first night of fruitless searching.

    A second letter arrived from Lord Jin of House Silvershield, inviting Harald to dine with him at his manor, but Harald simply didn¡¯t feel up to it. The mere prospect of dining with another charming manipulator was simply too much, so he asked Vic to pen whatever passed for a postponement and forgot about the matter.

    This downtime proved to be salutary; Harald only realized now how deeply he¡¯d drunken of his reserves on the day he¡¯d done three dungeon runs and dined at House Celestara; Shadow Fortitude had allowed him to accomplish far more than he should have been able to, but at a cost; it took him days to feel renewed, and though he was able to keep up with the training, he found it hard to attack the trials and challenges as he¡¯d once done.

    He went to bed at sunset and slept dreamlessly each night till Sixth Bell.

    No word came from Vorakhar. House Thornvale didn¡¯t press its threat. Vic assured him that House Celestara was actively awaiting his response but would give him time to consider. No doubt Lady Hammerfell was also hoping to hear from him, as was Anita Lothheed of House Emberfell, but for three blissful days, Harald was able to forget about the wider world and focus exclusively on training and recuperating.

    Then, without warning, Nessa strode into the kitchen late one morning, hair still wet from bathing, clad in practical training gear and with a light pack slung over one shoulder. Her blade hung at her hip, her face was clear of all make-up, so that the twin scars on her left cheek showed, and her manner was alert. There was no disguising the dark circles under her eyes, however, or the lusterless manner her black hair hung down over one shoulder.

    ¡°Have we a new gardener?¡± she asked, interrupting the conversation as she set her pack down by the archway.

    K¨¢rsek rose to his feet to bow, even as Vic smiled lazily in relief.

    ¡°This is a new friend,¡± said Harald, studying her for signs of sickness and nausea. ¡°K¨¢rsek, meet Evernessa, our Delve Captain.¡±

    The dwarf set aside the gardening gloves he¡¯d been repairing and bowed.

    ¡°Nessa, it¡¯s so good to see you,¡± drawled Vic. ¡°And in one piece. I was growing worried.¡±

    ¡°You should know better.¡± She moved to the stove to serve herself coffee, never once making eye contact with Harald. ¡°Hello K¨¢rsek. Welcome to our merry circus.¡±

    ¡°It is an honor, Lady Evernessa.¡±

    ¡°Please, Nessa will do. And how did you get roped in to all this foolishness?¡±

    Harald recounted the story. Nessa leaned against the far wall, and only occasionally glanced at him, expression stony.

    ¡°A Stone Shaper?¡± She considered the dwarf in new light. ¡°But only Level 1?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m all for it,¡± said Vic. ¡°He can carry my gear, and I love the idea of his opening walls where there were none before.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m for it,¡± agreed Sam, who¡¯d been watching Nessa suspiciously. ¡°I understand the desire the clear yourself of all debts.¡±

    ¡°Agreed,¡± said Harald. ¡°I think our crew would be the better for his help.¡±

    ¡°Sure.¡± Nessa sipped her coffee, then shrugged one shoulder. ¡°Whatever. I don¡¯t care.¡±

    K¨¢rsek frowned and glanced uncertainly at Harald.

    ¡°Good.¡± He chose not to press the matter. ¡°Vic was suggesting we try the 13th Level.¡±

    ¡°The goblins?¡± She seemed momentarily surprised, but then shrugged again. ¡°Fine.¡±

    ¡°Nessa, darling,¡± protested Vic. ¡°Did you come back a day too soon? The children were growing so excited.¡±

    ¡°No, I came back precisely when I meant to.¡± Her smile was forced. ¡°I¡¯ll take my belongings upstairs, then I¡¯ll be ready for lessons.¡± So saying, she picked up her pack and left.

    K¨¢rsek slowly sat back down.

    ¡°She¡¯s¡­ difficult,¡± said Vic. ¡°But charming, utterly delightful when she¡¯s in the mood.¡±

    ¡°As long as she gets her shit together in the dungeon,¡± said Sam dourly. ¡°I don¡¯t care what mood she¡¯s in.¡±

    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s guaranteed. Nothing helps Nessa focus like the prospect of lawfully being allowed to kill other creatures.¡±

    Harald was frowning at the empty archway. Should he follow her upstairs? Clear the air? No. That would only make things worse.

    Vic, catching sight of Harald¡¯s expression, reached out and patted his hand. ¡°Cheer up, Harald. You did the right thing. Think of it this way: had you chosen the other option, she¡¯d not be here at all.¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± sighed Harald. ¡°You¡¯re probably right.¡±

    *

    They all gathered in the gymnasium shortly thereafter to attend Nessa¡¯s lesson. Vic mostly out of boredom, K¨¢rsek from a desire to begin learning how the crew operated, and Sam and Harald because they were both still out of their depth.

    Nessa, clad in the same faded black training gear from before, moved to stand before their little group with her scabbarded longsword held crosswise behind her thighs.

    ¡°So. The 13th Level. I¡¯d not agree to it were it not for the Artifacts we have.¡± Her tone was flat, her gaze hard. ¡°The first dozen levels are categorized by mindless monsters who attack on instinct. The 13th?¡± Her smile was merciless. ¡°Goblins are far more dangerous than people credit.¡±

    Harald knew what she meant. As the first foes past the initial dozen Iron levels, they were ubiquitous in popular tales. Stupid, greedy, weak, they haunted children¡¯s tales, nursery rhymes, and were considered below the notice of serious raiders. They were fodder for the scythe, endless ranks being mowed down by heroes heading deeper into the dungeon.

    ¡°The 13th works on two planes,¡± continued Nessa. ¡°There¡¯s an elevated level of broken corridors and rooms, but none with walls of any serious note. This runs over a mist-shrouded bottom level, and it¡¯s from there that the goblins come. Unless you have unique powers and Abilities, it¡¯s suicidal to drop to the bottom floor to hunt them. Instead, raiders work their way along the second, fighting the goblins as they come up from below.¡±

    ¡°Pain in the ass,¡± observed Vic knowingly.

    ¡°Goblins hate hand-to-hand combat.¡± Nessa raised her longsword and propped it on her shoulder. ¡°They much prefer to hurl their javelins from a distance and melt away. Worst case scenario, raiding parties stumble ever forward, pursuing retreating goblins as their flanks and rear are attacked from afar, growing weaker and more desperate until at last they lose all patience and give chase to the ground layer, losing themselves in the mist and never returning.¡±

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

    Sam blinked. ¡°This is the 13th? It sounds¡­¡±

    ¡°Awful?¡± Nessa smiled again, though her gaze remained flat and cold. ¡°It can be. Goblins are weak. You¡¯ll have no difficulty cutting one down if you can reach it. Even their javelin throws are clumsy. The key to succeeding on the 13th is to go prepared and maintain discipline. Goblins love nothing more than a hothead who breaks away from their group to give chase. They tease and insult, they¡¯ve even been observed feigning weakness or injury to draw a raider out. The moment you break formation, however, you¡¯ll be swarmed. And where one goblin is no challenge, fighting four or five can be lethal to a weak raider.¡±

    ¡°Awful,¡± agreed Vic.

    ¡°Now.¡± Nessa raised her chin. ¡°We originally chose longswords for you both because the focus was on dueling Yeoric and achieving some manner of proficiency as quickly as possible. But in the dungeon, longswords aren¡¯t always the best choice. The 13th Level being a case in point. Sam, you¡¯re already well covered with your shields, but the rest of us will need to bring our own to fend off the endless javelins that will be hurled our way.¡±

    ¡°My Strength is 11,¡± Harald said, hoping he wasn¡¯t setting himself up for ridicule. ¡°With Dark Vigor and the Goldchops it can rise to 15.¡±

    ¡°You won¡¯t be using the Goldchops,¡± said Nessa. ¡°There¡¯s no point. They could clear the goblins out for us, but to what end? So that we collect a handful of Silver Starbursts? You¡¯ll be working on your skill. You need to level. And didn¡¯t you say Dark Vigor is an Active?¡±

    Harald nodded.

    ¡°So you can¡¯t rely on it for an extended crawl. Your Thrones will run dry. You¡¯re going to need to adapt to the level, which means practicing with a classic arming sword. Double edged, single-handed, and about 30 inches long, it¡¯ll allow you to fight with a shield.¡±

    Which meant no Dawnblade.

    Harald frowned but nodded.

    ¡°We¡¯re going to get some kite shields. Goblins aren¡¯t above hurling their javelins at your feet or shins to cripple you. Then we¡¯re going to practice fighting as a moving group. We¡¯ll need to be able to navigate and cross the obstacles we come across without falling apart and being picked off.¡±

    ¡°So wait,¡± said Harald. ¡°If the goblins are constantly fading away and attacking us from a distance, how do we get our kills? Are we just going to turtle around all day, taking hits?¡±

    ¡°Agonizing,¡± said Vic.

    ¡°Scattered throughout the level are chests with variable rewards.¡± Nessa propped her sword across her shoulder. ¡°These are defended by goblin bosses. Our goal is to find as many of these chests as possible. The goblins will give up their ambushing tactics to defend the boss and chest, and that¡¯s where we massacre them. A good raid means we find two chests. Anything above that is gravy.¡±

    ¡°Variable rewards?¡± asked Sam.

    Vic stepped forward. ¡°The Fallen Angel alone knows what will be found within each chest. This being the 13th Level, nobody should expect something of real value, but still, rewards are usually a single item of note. A potion, a valuable scale, a valuable crafting component. Sometimes the chests can give multiple rewards, and sometimes¡ªbut not often¡ªyou can find an Artifact of real power.¡± Vic rubbed his hands together. ¡°I love chests.¡±

    ¡°Such rewards are why people often delve into your dungeon,¡± agreed K¨¢rsek, thumbs tucked into his belt. ¡°Especially in the lower depths it is possible to recover materials found nowhere else on the Continent.¡±

    ¡°All right,¡± said Harald, and he felt his fighting spirit rising to the idea of this challenge. ¡°So how long are we going to spend training before the dungeon itself?¡±

    Nessa hesitated. ¡°Perhaps a week. It¡¯s good practice regardless, and anything you learn up here will only be half as effective once you¡¯re actually being attacked. That and you need time to grow at least marginally accustomed to wearing a shield on your arm.¡±

    ¡°Rapier Regents detest shields,¡± sniffed Vic. ¡°But I am nothing if not adaptable.¡±

    ¡°A week.¡± Harald fought to keep his disappointment in check. ¡°Right.¡±

    ¡°Oh come on, Harald.¡± Sam all but rolled her eyes. ¡°A week is nothing.¡±

    ¡°Also,¡± said Vic, ¡°if we¡¯re to induct Master Karsy here into our ranks, then it¡¯s incumbent upon us to learn how to best incorporate him into our tactics.¡±

    ¡°K¨¢rsek,¡± corrected Sam.

    ¡°Agreed,¡± said Nessa. ¡°Your level? Abilities?¡±

    K¨¢rsek told her, his manner polite, his words succinct.

    ¡°That can be of great use,¡± agreed Nessa. ¡°But Vic¡¯s right. We¡¯ll need to adapt. And we¡¯re going to need an area in which to train. A place where you can use your powers freely.¡±

    ¡°He can use them here?¡± Vic sounded confused. ¡°We¡¯re being evicted in a month. What¡¯s the harm in his raising and demolishing a few walls?¡±

    Harald glared at Vic.

    ¡°This is still our home,¡± said Sam tersely. ¡°We¡¯d rather not see it demolished.¡±

    ¡°I have it,¡± said Nessa, snapping her fingers. ¡°The quarry tunnels under the Shambles.¡±

    ¡°Morbid,¡± said Vic. ¡°The ones filled with bones?¡±

    ¡°Not necessarily. The tunnels are extensive. There are areas far beyond the ossuaries. And they¡¯ll simulate the dungeon environment, too.¡±

    ¡°Hmm.¡± Vic considered. ¡°I suppose.¡±

    Sam looked back and forth between them. ¡°What tunnels?¡±

    ¡°Back when Flutic was being built,¡± said Vic. ¡°When it was a babe of a city. They mined for stone outside the walls, but the walls kept expanding, and soon the mines were within the city limits. They kept mining, but so as to not disrupt the buildings, they simply burrowed like maddened rabbits. There are entire warrens of tunnels under the Shambles. During the Sweating Sickness there were so many dead that many of the corpses were just tossed into the mines.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll work on the basics first,¡± said Nessa. ¡°We need the shields and arming swords. I¡¯ll go buy them. Sam, can you give me the scales from the crew fund?¡±

    ¡°Sure,¡± she agreed. ¡°But¡­ is this a wise use of our time? To learn a new blade, a new way of fighting? Harald¡¯s only got some five weeks left till he fights Yeoric.¡±

    ¡°I doubt Yeoric is going to prove much of a challenge for Harald at the rate he¡¯s growing,¡± said Nessa cooly, and hearing it from her caused Harald to blush. ¡°But raiding is a way of life. You can¡¯t delve into the Silver-ranked floors without some measure of versatility.¡±

    Vic nodded soberly. ¡°It¡¯s a pain, but raiders need to be adaptable.¡±

    ¡°For now,¡± continued Nessa, ¡°K¨¢rsek, I¡¯d like to talk to you about your abilities. I can¡¯t get a sense of how to use you without understanding what you¡¯re capable of.¡±

    The dwarf nodded sharply. ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am. Whenever you like.¡±

    ¡°Now. We¡¯ll take this to the garden. The rest of you work basic forms and then practice the bind. I should be back this afternoon with the gear for our new lessons. Harald, I¡¯ll test your new Active and Passive then.¡±

    And then Nessa crooked a finger at K¨¢rsek and strode out of the dungeon. The dwarf hurried after her, and then they were gone.

    Harald did his best not to gulp. A test in this frame of mind¡­ was she going to just beat him into the ground again?

    Or would he start to hold his own?

    ¡°Well,¡± said Vic. ¡°I almost feel bad for the goblins.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m just glad she¡¯s still taking this seriously,¡± said Sam. ¡°I was worried about what condition she¡¯d be in when she returned.¡±

    Vic nodded, rubbing at his stubbled jaw. ¡°Fair. But¡­ this charter, this little crew, this mission we¡¯ve given her to ensure Harald¡¯s survival? It¡¯s good for her. I¡¯d never admit as much to her face, but Nessa¡¯s been¡­ drifting¡­ for years. Unmoored. I¡¯ve been a friend, true, but I am by nature independent and infuriating. Nessa¡¯s needed¡­ I don¡¯t know. Something to dedicate herself to. And this little family of ours is uniquely suited to benefiting from her talents. She¡¯s making a difference, and few things are better for a lost soul.¡±

    ¡°Why Vic,¡± said Sam in mock surprise. ¡°That¡¯s the first sensible thing I¡¯ve ever heard you say.¡±

    He grinned roguishly. ¡°The only way to keep my friends off-balance is to occasionally surprise them with some devastating wisdom. It makes my penchant for childish pranks and lewd innuendoes all the more off-putting and tragic.¡±

    Harald chuckled even as he ambled over to the sword bag. ¡°It¡¯s as if there are two versions of her. The Delve Captain, and¡­¡±

    ¡°And Nessa,¡± agreed Sam. ¡°How can she be so serious and deadly and then so¡­?¡±

    Vic sighed. ¡°We are all of us complex beings, Sam. Well. Some of us more so than others. You¡¯ll get there. Think of people as mirrors. When we are born, we reflect the world with an unblemished perfection. But life is all hammers. Sooner or later we¡¯re hurt, broken, sundered into hundreds of fragments, both large and small. We become wounded, bitter, resentful, suspicious. We stop being one person and become a dozen. One version with our friends, another with our employer, a third with our lover. The harder the blow, the greater the fragmentation. I¡¯ve heard it said by fools with no appreciation for the finer things in life that one¡¯s goal in life shouldn¡¯t be power or wealth but to become whole once more. To be only and ever themselves no matter in whose company they find themselves in.¡± He plucked a rapier from the bag. ¡°It¡¯s why I hold myself up as exemplar of all that is good in this world. Whether in the company of a grandee or a goblin, I am nothing more or less than myself: golden, glib, and gratuitously glorious.¡±

    Sam rolled her eyes as she took up her longsword.

    Harald paused, though, considering Vic¡¯s words. The man he¡¯d once been, the harried, haunted boy desperate for approval, had focused all his energies on impressing others, on figuring out whom he needed to be to fit in, to belong.

    The end result was that he¡¯d felt as if he¡¯d belonged nowhere.

    Now that he no longer cared? Suddenly he felt as if he had a core, a foundation under his feet, a sense of self that nobody could assail.

    It was only once he became this self that he found himself capable of pursuing his deepest ambitions.

    Only once he¡¯d given up on caring what the world thought about him that he found himself.

    ¡°Huh,¡± he said, realizing that perhaps Vic had the right of it. ¡°I like that.¡±

    Sam drew her blade and walked away into the gym. ¡°But what if you don¡¯t know who you are, no matter who you¡¯re with?¡±

    Harald and Vic exchanged worried glances.

    ¡°Well,¡± said Vic, blowing out his cheeks. ¡°Then I think you¡¯re just fucked.¡±

    ¡°Vic!¡± Harald glared at the man.

    Sam came to a stop in the center of the gym, head bowed. She tapped the blade against her palm a few times, then inhaled sharply and turned, eyes bright. ¡°Whatever. Forget I said anything. Let¡¯s get to work.¡±

    Harald wanted to object, to say something reassuring, to intervene, but Sam fell into the first sword drill, moving forward as she attacked invisible enemies from all angles.

    Vic moved away as well to begin his advanced conditioning drills.

    Reluctantly Harald began to warm up as well, but this time a new resolution filled him. It was time that he ask more about Sam¡¯s new life. Learned more about what she was doing away from the manor, and who she was trying to become.

    He began to swing his blade.

    Being a friend meant more than just giving her space.

    It also meant stepping in to see if he could help.

    He just hoped she wouldn¡¯t push him away, or that his attempts wouldn¡¯t make things worse.

 Chapter 67

    ¡°Abyssal Initiate 2,¡± said Nessa, drawing her blade slowly from its black scabbard. ¡°Your second level in less than a month. Some might call that impressive.¡±

    The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the much more civilized lawn. Everyone else was on the patio, watching intently as Harald summoned the Dawnblade to his hand.

    Vic had made special drinks for the occasion.

    Harald felt the weight of his Artifact solidify in his palm, satisfying and fell. Its length steamed briefly, burning off a mystical mist, and then it was ready for action.

    A second later the Goldchops manifested on either side of his shoulders, golden heads refulgent in the late afternoon sunlight.

    Nessa¡¯s eyes widened in shock.

    ¡°Just kidding,¡± said Harald, and dismissed them. ¡°But yes. Second level. Shouldn¡¯t be a problem for you, right?¡±

    ¡°One way to find out,¡± agreed Nessa, then scowled as Vic clapped slowly from behind Harald.

    ¡°Well played!¡± Vic¡¯s good cheer was unassailable. ¡°Keep her off balance! Compliment her hair!¡±

    Harald took a deep breath. The day had been an arduous one. He¡¯d given his training his best, and though almost recovered, it had still left him feeling drained. But the sight of Nessa standing before him, her blade sweeping back into the Tail guard, her gray eyes narrowed, her manner relaxed but alert, caused all the exhaustion to sluice away.

    Deep breaths. Harald entered the Tower guard, blade pointed high, then changed his mind and flowed up into the Ox, the tip of the Dawnblade pointed at Nessa¡¯s face, hilt by his temple.

    ¡°Whenever you¡¯re ready,¡± she said. The sun was just about to dip below the garden wall behind her, so that she stood shadowed, still and deadly.

    Shadow Fortitude was of limited use here. It would negate the effects of pain, but their spar shouldn¡¯t enter the territory of actually damaging each other. On the other hand, Dark Vigor was just about perfect.

    Harald opened both of his Thrones and allowed power to flow into his new Active.

    Black flames enveloped him, swirling and leaping across his arms and hands, no doubt coursing across the rest of him like a miniaturized maelstrom. In the rich golden sunlight the flames appeared insubstantial, like smoked glass, but as he lowered his chin and forced more power into the Active, he felt the rage of the flames grow more frenetic as power flowed into his frame.

    Strength suffused him, making his muscles feel like coiled steel bands, while his enhanced Dexterity made him feel light and ready for anything. Finally his Constitution reserves deepened, giving him boundless pools of energy to draw upon.

    Strength 13, Dexterity 12, Constitution 14.

    The stats of a tried and true raider.

    The exact same stats as Yeoric, actually.

    But Harald wasn¡¯t done.

    With both Thrones still pouring forth the Fallen Angel¡¯s might, he activated Aura of the Aching Depths, which was enhanced in turn by Dark Vigor.

    The air around him desaturated, as if a cloud had passed before the sun, and the temperature dropped. His own breath puffed out, visible as if on a chill morning, and he felt the void¡¯s hunger fill the garden, making the air thick and viscous, gelid and enervating.

    And this time Harald felt connected to it in a wholly novel manner; it was his void, his emanation. An expression of his hunger, his need, his desire to consume Nessa and devour her every assault. He willed the Aching Depths toward her, focused as much of its dour drain upon her slender figure.

    Break, he willed. Bend knee and acknowledge my power.

    Finally he tapped Abyssal Attunement. Black light enveloped the Dawnblade, turning its length into pure jet. And it gave his hunger physical form. Through its length he would consume vitality, inhale health. One touch, one caress against Nessa¡¯s body and he¡¯d sap her not only of her strength, but her very will to fight.

    Nessa remained still as these powers activated, watching, waiting.

    Harald advanced. His held his abyssal blade up high, pointed unwavering at her face, moving out obliquely to her left. She turned with him.

    As he drew closer Harald forced himself to relax. In this duel he needed to trust his instincts. Allow his reactions unfettered control. He wouldn¡¯t defeat her with calculated strikes, but rather by flowing from guard to guard, reacting and striking as needed.

    Nessa showed no dismay as the Aching Depths washed over her. No fear as his form burned with impossible black flames. He drew close enough to strike, but then she surprised him by taking the initiative.

    Her longsword flickered forward, a simple thrust. He parried, blades ringing out, but she wasn¡¯t done; a series of blows lashed out at him, and only his enhanced Dexterity allowed him to parry and deflect. No bind; she wasn¡¯t interested in wrestling or directing his energy, simply probing his defenses instead.

    A quick clash and then he leaped back, neither having scored a touch, and then they were circling, only for Nessa to dart in again.

    But now she activated her Dance of the Zephyr, so that she executed a series of rapid, flowing attacks that allowed her to strike him faster than the eye could follow.

    One of her most powerful Actives.

    But the Aching Depths was in full effect; she wasn¡¯t as impossibly quick as she once might have been, so that he parried the first three strikes before the fourth, fifth, and sixth hit home.

    And when they did Echoing Strike detonated, a white flash bursting forth so that he felt as if he¡¯d been hit by three horses in quick succession, blows like hooves to his shoulder, chest, and thigh sending him reeling back.

    But there was no pain.

    Nothing but a deadened sense of damage taken.

    Nessa was raising her blade, expecting him to react normally, to cry out, to take a moment to recover from the brutal strikes.

    Instead he immediately launched himself back at her, using the classic Dungeon Square as he sought to strike her with his abyssal blade.

    Sweat prickled her brow, he saw, and her skin was pasty; whatever she¡¯d been doing these last three days had taken their toll. Combined with the weight of the Aching Depths and his own surprise attack, and his advantage felt real.

    She gave ground, her Blade¡¯s Grace Passive allowing her to effortlessly parry his assaults. Impossible agility. A mastery of the blade beyond anything he could dream. Her sword formed a flickering shield that he hammered against, his Strength 13 making his blows terrible.

    The exchange was blisteringly fast, and somehow, despite her awe inspiring mastery, somehow, his abyssal blade got through.

    A light touch along her thigh, opening a red line.

    The abyssal blade drank deep. Renewed energy flowed into him, stolen from her essence, and he knew she felt herself grow clumsy, her will blunted, her doubts and indecision heightened.

    Harald grimaced as he pressed his attack; Nessa was on her heels, the Aching Depths numbing her, his Abyssal touch weakening her, but still she held him at bay, and then, somehow, she opened his guard and stepped in close to hammer the hilt of her blade straight into his feet.

    His head cracked back.

    But there was no pain. No stun. No moment of disorientation.

    It didn¡¯t matter though, because her foot swept in behind his heel even as he staggered, and then he was on the ground, head thudding into the short grass, the tip of her sword at his throat.

    ¡°I yield,¡± he said with a smile, and then the sound of metallic stars ringing out against the void filled his mind:

    The Demon Seed Has Stirred

    Your Dexterity has risen from 10 to 11

    Nessa stared down at him coldly. There was murder in those gray eyes. It was as if she didn¡¯t seem him, but rather another foe, a challenge in need of removal.

    The moment dragged on a second too long, but then she put up her sword and stepped back.

    ¡°Bravo!¡± called Vic, clapping his hands from the patio. ¡°The pup has teeth! A nip!¡±

    Harald pushed himself up to his elbows, releasing his gifts as he watched Nessa draw out a scale and absorb it, sealing the wound in her thigh in seconds.

    He watched her carefully. His elation over his stat gain was tempered by his concern for Nessa. The Aching Depths was gone, but she still looked unwell. A moment later she pressed her hand to her mouth, darted to the side, and bent over some bushes to heave and gag.

    ¡°Your performance made her sick,¡± said Vic, stepping up alongside Harald and extending his hand. ¡°She¡¯s nauseated by your talent.¡±

    But his tone was sober.

    Harald took his hand and rose to his feet. ¡°Nessa? You all right?¡±

    She pressed the back of her wrist to her mouth, standing still with her back to them, then sheathed her blade and strode urgently up onto the patio, past Sam and K¨¢rsek, to disappear into the house.

    ¡°Hmm.¡± Vic crossed his arms. ¡°Looks like she wasn¡¯t as ready for the bout as she thought.¡±

    ¡°I pushed her with everything I had,¡± said Harald, feeling guilty. ¡°The Aching Depths and the touch of the abyss must have¡­ stirred her system up.¡±

    ¡°Right.¡± Vic rubbed at his face, then glanced at Harald sidelong. ¡°Your powers are very interesting, Harry-boy. Less specific fighting techniques and more ambient control powers. A draining aura matched with a draining attack, along with personal enhancements.¡±

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t mind something like you two have.¡± Harald rubbed the back of his neck. ¡°Your Piercing Lance strike, say, or Nessa¡¯s Echoing Strike.¡±

    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

    ¡°There¡¯s a silver lining to not receiving one such, believe it or not.¡± Vic clapped him on the shoulder, urging him back to the patio. ¡°Receiving a strike Ability too soon can lead to dependency. Too many raiders become reliant on that one Ability, and use it again and again instead of working on their weapon skills.¡±

    They sat, and Sam leaned over to give Harald¡¯s shoulder a shake. ¡°Well done. You landed a touch!¡±

    ¡°She wasn¡¯t at her best,¡± protested Harald. ¡°I think my powers stirred up the nausea and after-effects of whatever she¡¯d been doing these past few days.¡±

    ¡°Not your problem,¡± said Sam, sitting back. ¡°I can¡¯t believe how quickly you¡¯ve grown in just a month.¡±

    ¡°It is remarkable,¡± agreed Vic. ¡°And by the Fallen Angel, you¡¯re making me feel like an old man, insisting on lecturing about the values of the basics. The fundamentals! Do you know how much I used to roll my eyes when my own master insisted on such drivel?¡±

    ¡°A lot?¡± hazarded Harald.

    ¡°A lot,¡± agreed Vic. ¡°But it¡¯s true. Abilities lead to hubris. The flashier and more effective, the more dangerous. The levels from teens to the twenties are littered with the corpses of vainglorious fools who thought themselves untouchable.¡±

    ¡°As a dwarf, I cannot overemphasize the value of a solid foundation,¡± agreed K¨¢rsek. ¡°But as a Tinker, I, too, understand the yearning for freedom from constraints.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s just it!¡± Vic snapped his fingers and leaned forward. ¡°Abilities like my Piercing Lance make you feel as if you¡¯re breaking the rules. Instead of needing years of disciplined practice, you can simply channel mystical power into a single, devastating thrust that can pierce the toughest of armors. Why spend hours at ring practice when you can just Piercing Lance every fool that you come across?¡±

    ¡°I know that¡¯s a rhetorical question,¡± said Sam. ¡°But why wouldn¡¯t you just use Piercing Lance whenever you can?¡±

    ¡°Because I have only Ascended to my second Throne,¡± said Vic, sitting back. ¡°I can only sustain my Passives for a while. And the more you try to do, as Harald was exemplifying just now by harnessing every Ability he had, the quicker you¡¯ll run out of power and be left with nothing more than your own crude skills.¡±

    Harald nodded. ¡°And the temptation is strong. While my Thrones were roaring, it felt as if they¡¯d run forever.¡±

    ¡°Wait till you get pulled into a serious fight that lasts more than a minute.¡± Vic gazed at them soberly. ¡°There¡¯s nothing more agonizing than losing your Abilities when you need them most.¡±

    Harald nodded, thoughtful. Even his fights with the scarecrows had been over pretty quickly. They¡¯d felt incredibly intense while they¡¯d lasted, but at best they¡¯d gone for¡­ forty seconds? A minute? Sustainable with two Thrones, but if his Abilities had run out of power¡­

    ¡°Level 13 will exemplify this manner of challenge,¡± continued Vic. ¡°While no one goblin lasts long, their numbers are continuously replenished. Your Passives will be constantly engaged, and your desire to use your Actives never ending. Hence the need for sound strategy and kite shields. We¡¯ll all need to take breaks to restore our reserves even as we remain under attack.¡±

    Harald thought back to the Crypt Keepers and how his seeming invincibility had crumbled once his twin Thrones had ceased powering him. How bereft and exhausted he¡¯d suddenly felt. ¡°Fair. Luckily nobody here is arguing against learning the basics.¡±

    ¡°Well!¡± Vic stood. ¡°I have a rendezvous with Countess Sonora. It seems she¡¯s in a bit of a pickle. What can I say? People depend on me.¡±

    They all rose to their feet.

    ¡°I¡¯ll head home as well,¡± agreed Sam, instinctively beginning to gather everyone¡¯s glasses. They all entered the kitchen, and as Vic went upstairs to check on Nessa and K¨¢rsek set to cleaning the dishes, Harald followed Sam to the entrance hall.

    ¡°Good day¡¯s training,¡± he said.

    She flashed a smile as she hefted her pack. ¡°As always.¡±

    ¡°Hey, what do you think about my walking you home?¡±

    She paused, frowned. ¡°Yeah?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know. Only if it¡¯s all right with you.¡±

    She looped the other strap of her pack over her shoulder. ¡°You think I¡¯m not safe?¡±

    Harald laughed. ¡°Hardly! Just that, I don¡¯t know. It¡¯s coming on two weeks since you moved out. I¡¯m just curious about how you¡¯ve set yourself up.¡±

    She nodded pensively, clearly thinking it over. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ that¡¯s sweet of you. Maybe some other time? I¡¯m not yet finished decorating the new place. Maybe I can have you over for dinner when I¡¯m done?¡±

    ¡°Sure.¡± Harald smiled. ¡°Whatever works for you.¡±

    Sam studied him a moment longer, then leaned in for a one-armed hug. ¡°Thanks for asking, though. See you tomorrow, Harald.¡±

    ¡°Tomorrow,¡± he agreed, opening the front door and watching her descend the steps and head out toward the street. His smile slowly faded as she closed the wrought iron gate behind her, and for a moment he just stood there after she was gone, gazing out over Flutic at dusk.

    Then he sighed and stepped back inside.

    *

    What followed was a week of arduous training. The weather remained heavy and overcast, which suited Harald¡¯s mood. He put all thoughts of the outside world aside. Thoughts of Yeoric and Ustim Flowervault, thoughts of the Houses jockeying for his interest, thoughts of his debts and how soon he would lose his home.

    Instead, his world once more shrank down to just training. To testing his body. To pushing himself to his limits, day in, day out.

    Which, strangely, grew harder the fitter he got.

    In the beginning he saw immediate consequences to working out hard. He would vomit, get dizzy, sweat till he soaked through his clothing. But in just a month his stats had shot up to such heights that now even after a grueling weights session or an hour of jogging around Season¡¯s Park he barely raised his heart rate or felt sore thereafter.

    But it meant he was capable of pushing harder for longer stretches of time. He started carrying his kite shield on his left arm on his runs. He worked with ever heavier weights in the gym, and marveled at how he now handled the corpse bag, where once not long ago it had overwhelmed him.

    The harder he pushed, the more his body responded.

    Sometimes it felt almost alien. He knew he was growing faster than was humanly possible, and that was solely due to the Demon Seed¡¯s influence.

    But he couldn¡¯t find it within himself to resent it. He welcomed its malefic benediction. He yearned for it to stir within his depths, to reward him again, to propel him to greater, impossible heights.

    K¨¢rsek joined him and Sam on their routines. He ran more slowly but seemed able to go forever; his stamina was astounding, like a banked fire that only grew hotter the longer he strove. His strength was also remarkable; though smaller in frame, he was able to shoulder enormous weights without protest. He didn¡¯t join them in sword drills, but instead worked off to the side with his hammer alone; he had his own drills, routines, and took to beating at Gustav with gusto, the mannequin barely stirring as he pounded its ironwood frame.

    The highlights of their days was unit work.

    Nessa, remote, would only appear for these sessions. She¡¯d form them up in a square, her upfront, Harald on the left, Sam the right, Vic at the rear, with K¨¢rsek in the center pocket. Shields up they trained at navigating the garden, simply moving in formation and keeping tight. They worked at scrambling over benches or up over the patio¡¯s stone balustrade. Squeezed into the house, and spent hours figuring out how best to move through doorways, into narrow halls. Drilled again and again till by the end of the week it started to feel routine.

    They stowed the longswords in favor of the arming swords. These felt surprisingly light, but Harald soon found himself enjoying the combination of shield and sword almost as much as swinging the Dawnblade about by itself.

    It was an entirely different calculus. With the longsword the objective was to remain out of danger until you were ready to close and strike, to exchange blows while always watching out for elbows, hands, and knees.

    But with the shield, suddenly you could edge in and exchange blows without needing to spring away or dart aside. If anything, the shield became both a blessing a curse; its weight dragged on the arm and shoulder, while it at times blocked Harald¡¯s ability to even seen incoming blows.

    There was no Dungeon Square with a shield. Instead you held your defense up at chin level, and thrust and chopped. It was less about swordplay and more about working your way in and cutting your foe down.

    This only grew more complicated when Nessa lined them up beside each other.

    ¡°When we face the goblin boss, it¡¯ll be in a large chamber.¡± She stood before them, still remote, her manner perilous. ¡°We¡¯ll break the square to form a phalanx. Shoulder to shoulder we¡¯ll advance while being mindful of flanking attacks. We don¡¯t have time to practice much moving in formation, but you need to be mindful of your companions at your side. Don¡¯t crowd them, don¡¯t leave them exposed. Formation work only works if you stay mindful of remaining in formation. We¡¯ll still be receiving javelins, so we can¡¯t disregard our shields and just rush in.¡±

    And so they drilled for hours on end, shields up, shoulder to shoulder, advancing and striking in simple drills, always mindful not becoming extravgant with their swings so as to jostle the next person, nor pulling away so as to leave a gap in the ranks.

    Harald loved it.

    It felt like soldiering. There was a tension to a correct formation that he could just intuit. When everything was in alignment and they were moving just right, it felt fluid, organic, lethal.

    K¨¢rsek would remain behind their line, using his Vein Whispering to help shape the flow of battle. He and Nessa sat together to sketch out situations, Nessa advising him on what sort of opportunities to look for, and thought Harald had no idea what that might look like, he trusted Nessa¡¯s judgement.

    Inevitably, a letter arrived from the Flutic Treasury declaring Harald to be officially in default on his numerous debts, and informing him that he had to pay a Zenith Tide as penalty even as the proceeds to seize the manor had begun.

    Harald read the letter alone one morning, and threw the letter in the trash. They could come claim the Zenith Tide if they desired, but he¡¯d no intention of visiting the Treasury to pay it himself. Thirty days or less remained in his home.

    He glanced around the kitchen, took a deep breath, then put that fact from his mind.

    On the last day of their training they all took off at dawn with their gear in large packs and meals for the day bundled in wax paper to the mines. Rain fell hesitantly from the skies, as if the lowering clouds couldn¡¯t quite commit to truly bad weather, but that damp and cold couldn¡¯t affect Harald and Sam¡¯s high spirits.

    They found an entrance to the mines behind an abandoned hostelry, and climbed down into a heavily graffitied chamber whose floor was littered with trash. Nessa, having acquired a map from somewhere, consulted with K¨¢rsek, who had an innate sense for the flow of the passages, and led them away from all signs of humanity into the silent, cold depths of the mines deep beneath the city.

    There, in the chalkstone passages, they trained again in formation. Scale-lanterns affixed to belts, shields up, weapons at the ready, they navigated tunnels and intersections as Nessa called out imaginary threats and from where incoming javelins were flying.

    But this time K¨¢rsek gave free reign to his powers.

    He and Nessa had worked out a code so that she could call out terse commands efficiently.

    ¡°North One!¡± she¡¯d bark, and K¨¢rsek would grunt as a wall rose shudderingly out of the chiseled ground to some four feet in height, tapering off at the edges.

    ¡°Southwest Two!¡± And a trench would hollow out obliquely perpendicular from Vic and Harald.

    ¡°East Blast!¡± K¨¢rsek would thrust out a fist, and a chunk of the far wall across from Sam would detonate into fragments, showering their party with tiny shards of stone but no doubt devastating anyone close to the epicenter.

    It was fun.

    Harald loved it.

    Nessa had introduced leather harnesses which they wore around their necks and left shoulders and from which the kite shields could hang, alleviating their weight. Wearing their armor, arming swords in hand, they traversed broad hallways, worked their way around bottomless shafts, scrambled up two by two onto ledges and always Nessa had them picturing assaults:

    ¡°Three goblins in that corner behind that rock, javelins coming at Vic!¡±

    ¡°A goblin dragging itself away from Sam, pretending injury. Ignore it.¡±

    ¡°Three retreating before me, throwing javelins as we advance!¡±

    They stopped for lunch in one of the famous ossuaries, niche after niche filled with yellowed bones and skulls. Someone had set up a round table in the center, complete with six chairs. A pile of gambling chips was stacked neatly in the middle, and a pack of strange cards lay beside them, their faces depicting suits that none of them had ever seen before.

    In the afternoon they practiced moving while using their Abilities. Harald tapped Aura of the Aching Depths whenever more than three goblins assaulted them, while Sam moved her Shield of Valor to wherever the assaults were thickest.

    Both Sam and Nessa had support aura powers; Sam could manifest Beacon of Hope, lifting their spirits, while Nessa could summon Will of the Blade and Harmonic Resonance, both powers helping coordinate their movements as well as increasing morale and combat effectiveness.

    Vic¡¯s Aura of Cruelty complimented Harald¡¯s Aching Depths , and they practiced synchronizing their activations to maximize the demoralizing effects on their imaginary foes.

    By the time they were done the whole group was weary and spent.

    But their morale was high.  Even Nessa appeared enlivened for the first time, smiling slightly as they returned to one of the exits. K¨¢rsek for the first time appeared moderately at ease, his eyes gleaming as he listened to first one then the other person offer suggestions or reflect on tricky maneuvers, and Sam and Harald were practically bubbling with enthusiasm for the venture.

    On the ride home, Harald suggested they use the crew funds to buy everyone a hearty dinner at the Burnished Goose, and they claimed a large table and ordered the house special, a massive Argivinian fowl the size of a boar, roasted to a golden sheen and filled with vegetables and minced sausage.

    Sitting at the table, tankard of water at hand, plate full of good food, surrounded by friends and companions, and with a dangerous mission on the morrow, Harald couldn¡¯t help but feel a deep level of satisfaction.

    It was a new sensation.

    He felt¡­ happy.

    Purposeful.

    Accomplished.

    This was the crew he¡¯d always yearned for. Sure there were complexities, sure there were challenges, but he trusted them. Even K¨¢rsek was a welcome addition, the dwarf¡¯s quiet solidity and ready smile as he listened attentively helping balance out Vic¡¯s endless raillery, Nessa¡¯s dark watchfulness, and Sam¡¯s bright smile.

    Tomorrow they¡¯d hit the 13th Level.

    And in that moment, Harald made himself a vow. They¡¯d hit every level from the 13th to the 20th in short order. He¡¯d not let up the pace. He¡¯d keep pushing their crew, refusing to settle into a comfort zone, refusing to play it safe.

    They¡¯d grow like no other team had ever grown before.

    One level after another would fall to their lethality.

    They¡¯d all level up together, reap the rewards together, and in due time, become one of the city¡¯s most feared crews.

    Anyone and everyone who sought to stop them, from Thracos and House Thornvale to Ustim and Yeoric, would be crushed.

    Flush with ambition and good cheer, Harald lifted his tankard of water. ¡°Everyone, a toast! To the best damn crew to walk the streets of Flutic in over a century. Tomorrow will be our first assault against the dungeon¡¯s more dangerous foes, but I know we¡¯re going to crush it. To our success, to all the scales, Artifacts, and Servitors we¡¯re going to harvest, and to you, the best friends a ruined nobleman¡¯s son could hope for.¡±

 Chapter 68

    Harald awoke at Sixth Bell and rolled out of bed. He felt refreshed and vigorous. He dressed in the pre-dawn gloom, cinching on his newly acquired studded leather armor, paid for out of the crew fund. It was well oiled, supple, but with a few strategically placed iron plates sewn over vulnerable areas. Not too heavy, not too bulky, and an improvement over his ruined set of armor for sure.

    He buckled his new arming sword, took up his bulky kite shield, and grabbed the iron cap they¡¯d all be wearing. A final check of his room, and then he closed the bedroom door behind him and descended to the entrance hall.

    Everybody was gathered there, eyes puffy with sleep, Vic frowning at the hour and cracking the occasional yawn. K¨¢rsek had risen early to brew strong coffee, and once Nessa descended with her pack they set forth into the gray morning.

    They¡¯d decided to walk so as to warm themselves up and did so without any conversation. Flutic was coming to life, transitioning from the night city to the day, and the rumble of carriages and wagons slowly grew louder as the crowds thickened.

    They reached the Dungeon Plaza just before Seventh Bell as planned, and Sam waved and pushed off the scale-lantern post she¡¯d been leaning against to jog over. She wore her new armor, all chainmail and leather, arming sword scabbarded at her hip but without the kite shield.

    With her Artifact and Ability, she¡¯d no need of a mundane one.

    They all murmured their greetings and moved to get in line. Vic was still yawning, so against Nessa¡¯s advice he purchased a second cup of coffee from a street vendor. There wasn¡¯t much of a line before the Copper Gate, and soon enough they stepped up to the guard who processed them without much interest, giving the usual disclaimers and warnings.

    They stepped up to the taxation desk, declared their scales and stats, and Harald was taken aback by how much Sam had brought: ten Zeniths, two of which went to each crew member for healing purposes.

    Vic tossed his empty cup aside and led the way up to the platform. More perfunctory warnings, and then Nessa held aloft twelve Copper Moons.

    Was this becoming rote? Harald glanced around the deck and the guards, the huge revolving Dungeon Portal, the Petitioner¡¯s line. On some level it was. This marked his¡­ sixth delve? He shook out his shoulders, activated his scale-lantern, clipped it to his belt, then swung his kite shield around and drew his arming sword.

    ¡°Ready, Harald?¡± K¨¢rsek stood beside him, having acquired a sunflower yellow surcoat that he wore over his traveling gear.

    ¡°Ready. You?¡±

    K¨¢rsek rolled his tousled head about his shoulders, causing his neck to pop, and winked up at him.

    The portal ceased revolving. Nessa glanced back to make sure they were all prepared, then led the way.

    One by one they climbed the sky to enter the carnivorous portal, Harald going third, and even after so many entrances the way it seemed to expand to consume him gave him the shivers.

    He emerged into a light and airy tunnel, the ceiling a good thirty feet up, the width just as broad. The walls were of porous white chalk, striated to intimate the passage of eons, while the roof was rough and stained, irregular and hinting at a vaulted style simply from the way it sloped down to the walls or the huge columns that supported it.

    Four other huge tunnels intersected with it, large enough for carriages to comfortably be driven through, horses and all. White light radiated smoothly from these side tunnels or up ahead where the main tunnel curved out of sight.

    The ground was of crushed white sand and pebbles. The air was dry, cool, and tasted, predictably, of chalk.

    Silence. An expectant hush.

    The 12th Level.

    His father¡¯s old favorite.

    ¡°You see, Harry,¡± his father had held forth one night after Harald had dared ask, ¡°The 12th is where you¡¯re put to the test. It goes on forever, it¡¯s said, those blasted white tunnels. The deeper you go, the more dangerous it gets. It¡¯s said there¡¯s a Celestial Prismwing hidden at its very end, can you imagine? Just hovering there, glittering, precious as all of Flutic, awaiting the man bold enough to seize it.¡±

    His father¡¯s passion had ignited his own, so Harald had immediately set to learning all that he could about the 12th. It turned out to be a simple level: huge tunnels that wound ever on, always the same, sloping gradually down.

    And the danger? Stone golems. At first small and slow, easy to destroy, but the deeper you went the larger and faster they got.

    Everybody eventually ran into their match. Even Gold-ranked raiders would occasionally attempt the 12th to see how deep they could go.

    But not today.

    The 12th might test their skill and staying power, but the foes were as mindless as any other on the first dozen levels.

    Nessa waited till Sam came through last, then led them forward. The goal was to find a well leading to the 13th, as the next Portal entrance was only to the 16th. That made the 13th, 14th, and 15th Level some of the least visited levels in all of the common floors; most raiders simply defaulted to the 16th instead of finding their way down from the 12th.

    But Nessa insisted they tackle this from the top.

    They jogged forward, boots crunching on the crushed chalk, not talking so as to not alert any of the closest golems, but even so when they reached the first intersecting tunnel a golem slouched into view.

    It was humanoid, four feet tall, but appeared to be all shoulders and arms, its huge fists almost as large as its chest. Formed from the same white rock as the walls, it still somehow conveyed a sense of death; the chest was cadaverous, ribs prominent, and gaps opened up the length of its forearms between stone sinews. Its face was a deaths head, hinting at skull without nose, its eyes deeply recessed beneath a prominent brow, its scalp bald and uneven. It stalked forward lethargically on all fours, knuckles pressed to the ground, the weight of its shoulders over its arms. Its small bandy legs seemed an afterthought.

    Harald froze.

    The golem lifted its skull-like visage and focused on him, mouth pulling open wide in a silent snarl, stone warping like flesh, and Harald saw that each of its eyes was a single Crescent Copper scale.

    There was one thing that Nessa and Vic had insisted on: if they ran into a golem, they had to put it down fast. Their roar would attract ever more of their number.

    But before Harald could react Vic raised the Point and caused it to extend, driving its gleaming tip straight into the golem¡¯s brow just as Nessa burst forward, crossing the distance far quicker than Harald thought possible to lop off the top of the small monster¡¯s head.

    The golem simply collapsed into a small pile of rubble.

    Nessa checked her blade¡¯s edge for nicks, then led them into the golem¡¯s tunnel. The trick to descending to the 13th without getting swamped by the foes on the 12th was to pursue a spiraling path, always trying to stay as close as possible to your point of origin.

    They slew three more small golems, Sam collecting the Crescent Moons they left behind, when they found a well at last descending to the 13th.

    ¡°Perfect,¡± whispered Nessa. She¡¯d said it wouldn¡¯t take long to find one, and she¡¯d been right. Wells were common when it came to reaching levels without Dungeon Portal access.

    ¡°All right,¡± she said. ¡°We won¡¯t have long before we attract attention below. Follow my lead, remember our training, and stay close. This shouldn¡¯t be a problem as long as we stay focused. And remember.¡± At this point she glared at Harald. ¡°Listen for my commands, and if you hear them? Obey.¡±

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    ¡°Yes, Delve Captain,¡± said Harald, chagrined.

    She raked their group one last time, as if taking a mental tally of their resources, ensuring everybody was ready, then nodded, sat on the edge of the simple well, swung her legs over and in, then dropped and was gone.

    Damn, thought Harald as he watched Vic go next. Nessa really was like a different woman down here. No, that wasn¡¯t quite right. No different, but¡­ reduced. As if she flensed all the extraneous parts of her personality away, leaving nothing but the iron core.

    Harald was slated to go next. He sat on the broad lip of the well. The stone was cold. He swung his legs over.

    ¡°Luck!¡± whispered Sam.

    He flashed a nervous grin and glanced down. The heart of the well was swirling black energies. With a breath as if falling into water, he pushed forward and fell.

    The abyss welcomed him. He felt himself traduced, translated across space, and then he found himself standing in a new environment.

    He didn¡¯t fall to his feet, simply found himself already standing, shield raised on his left arm, arming sword held at the ready on his right.

    The portal back home now burned at his back, dragged down here by his descent.

    The 13th Level was a dismal and macabre place. The air was hazy, the sky a vague press of slowly roiling fog without depth, the details of anything farther than a dozen yards growing indistinct. They stood in a small square of badly laid stone tiles, many shattered or missing altogether to reveal dirt. From where they stood a labyrinth of walkways, squares, and short staircases extended in all directions, most of them bound by low retaining walls at either knee or waist height. Great gaps yawned open on all sides, and from many of these rose dead trees with grasping bare branches, their bark wizened, their trunks tortured. Mist swirled thickly in the depths, hiding the ground floor on which the goblins scuttled.

    K¨¢rsek appeared beside him a moment later, the dwarf¡¯s eyes wide, his grip on his hammer white knuckled.

    The dwarf¡¯s appearance jolted Harald into action; he stepped into position, behind and to Nessa¡¯s left, Vic already taking the rear. Both more experienced raiders had their kite shields up, weapons at the ready.

    Sam appeared a second later, her eyes widening as she took in the dull brown environs, the broken masonry, the barren trees.

    ¡°Moving,¡± said Nessa, leading them across the plaza toward the first shallow set of steps.

    Everything looked on the verge of collapse. The short wall that framed what looked like a burial plot just to the left of the steps undulated as if drunken and about to fall in. The paving was uneven, the stones irregular and poorly fitted together.

    Movement.

    Harald focused on free standing archway that rose in the next square over, searched the edge of their own square, seeking the source of that distraction, then saw a cunning little face peeking at him from behind a broken column that marked the start of a walkway that stretched out to the next plaza.

    It was a dusty green, the nose impressively long and angular like the head of a pick-ax, the brow beetling, the mouth impossibly wide and pulled into a wicked sneer. The goblin was just as small as described, three feet tall, its eyes a jaundiced yellow, its manner sly and yet somehow impossibly amused.

    For a moment they made eye contact, and then it jerked its head back and was gone.

    Harald felt his heart pounding. There had been real life in those yellow eyes, a fierce cunning, a savage cruelty. The Crypt Keepers, the Gloom Maws, the ashen walkers, all of them had been monstrous but bestial, or mindless. Even the scarecrows had been too alien to register as ¡®alive¡¯.

    But that goblin had been another living creature, something wicked and mean spirited perhaps, its grin sadistic, but alive.

    And it was hunting them.

    But they were still moving.

    ¡°Goblin hiding behind western column,¡± he called out, remembering his instructions. There were no real cardinal directions down here, but to keep things simple each member of the group had their own assigned direction: everything to Harald¡¯s side became ¡®west¡¯, even if they rotated and were returning to the well.

    ¡°Three goblins watching from the south,¡± called Vic.

    ¡°Keep a steady pace,¡± said Nessa, leading them up the steps. ¡°K¨¢rsek, prepare for a South One on my mark.¡±

    ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am,¡± said the dwarf gruffly. ¡°Plenty of Earthblood here.¡±

    ¡°Incoming!¡± barked Sam, and a shock ran through their small group like a sharp wind over wheat. A second later Harald heard a thok as a javelin hit Sam¡¯s shield. It took all his discipline to not turn and see what had happened.

    Nessa had made that clear: you minded your own business unless someone called for help.

    They made their way up the steps and stepped out onto a walkway. It was some four yards broad, swaybacked and rough, the retaining wall knocked out and gone in great patches. Beyond swirled the mist that hid the floor below, while the occasional tree rose into view as they prowled toward the next square.

    Which weren¡¯t even squares, necessarily, but broader expanses of jumbled paving stones, sometimes adorned with broken archways or columns, all of it stained brownish yellow as if by endless years of exposure to corrupting miasma.

    ¡°The three to my south are now six,¡± called Vic, tone sharp. ¡°They¡¯re pressing in.¡±

    ¡°K¨¢rsek, South One,¡± called Nessa. ¡°Everyone turn and head south!¡±

    K¨¢rsek gestured; Harald reversed direction so that they returned swiftly to their original plaza. A four-foot-high dun-colored wall burst up from the broken tiles at the head of the steps, and he caught sight of a handful of goblins drawing back their javelins just before they were hidden from view.

    They hurried to the wall just as the goblins came scrambling over the top.

    Vic had put away the Point, wanting to level his Rapier Regent class, and now he led the controlled charge at the surprised goblins.

    Three landed before the wall before registering how much closer the raiders were, and cried out as they swarmed to the sides, intent on leaping down into the mist. Vic cut down one, the other two hurling themselves into the void, then swept his blade across the top of the wall just as two more pulled themselves up.

    Both had their faces split open as they screamed and fell away.

    Vic swiped the Silver Starbursts that appeared in the air where they¡¯d fallen.

    ¡°Well done,¡± said Nessa. ¡°Resume heading north.¡±

    Again they changed direction.

    Harald fought the temptation once more to peer ahead, and instead studied the closest walkways and squares on the far side of the swirling gap the ran parallel to their walkway.

    Three javelins came flying out of the haze as distant goblins ran into view and hurled them, little more than shadows at this remove.

    ¡°Three incoming!¡± Harald barked, raising his shield.

    Sam¡¯s Shield of Valor sprang into existence just above and to the side, and then the first javelin hit his shield with surprising strength. The iron tip failed to punch through, however, and the javelin bounced off.

    ¡°Relax, everyone,¡± called Nessa. ¡°Breathe easy. Let¡¯s move quicker.¡±

    They picked up the pace and reached the next square. This one was ringed by higher, more solid walls. A huge, wizened tree grew in the north-east corner, bulging red fruit hanging from the dead branches. Most of the flagstones were gone, revealing instead clayish, hard-packed soil.

    ¡°Three east,¡± barked Sam.

    ¡°Two north,¡± said Nessa.

    The thick wall on his side turned into a causeway that speared out into the haze, and down its length came running a pocket of four goblins, javelins already pulled back to throw.

    ¡°Four incoming!¡± he called, and then the javelins were flying, hurled with all the little monsters¡¯ strength.

    ¡°K¨¢rsek, East Three!¡±

    A detonation sounded, but Harald hunched behind his shield and took the javelins. Frustration began to mount within him. He wanted to break formation and charge the goblins who were even now retreating into the gloom. He wanted to close and cut them down. Moving like this felt ridiculous, as if all they were doing was inviting endless ranged attacks.

    But he bit down on that impatience and followed Nessa¡¯s commands as they quit this square and continued north. Nobody had been hurt yet, and Nessa admonished them time and again to control their breathing, to calm down, to stay in formation.

    They traversed another walkway, entered a brief maze of shoulder-high walls that forced them to work back and forth as they sought to keep going north, goblins racing and giggling along the wall-tops just out of reach.

    One clapped its hands to catch Harald¡¯s attention, emerging from the haze some ten yards away, then turned and pulled down its pants, baring its green buttocks which it set to slapping as it cackled with laughter.

    Harald grinned. ¡°Come do that over here!¡±

    The goblin turned, made a rude gesture, and ran off into the gloom.

    ¡°Up ahead,¡± said Nessa. ¡°Looks like we¡¯ve found a target.¡±

    Harald hazarded a glance. A decrepit hill of a building loomed up out of the cancerous fog. It was a pile of masonry, on the verge of collapse, massive and unlit from within. Most of the windows had been boarded up, but their walkway led to a broad archway before which stood a nervous group of goblins, javelins and curved blades held at the ready.

    Within, no doubt, was one of their leaders and a loot chest.

    ¡°Get ready for some heat,¡± called Nessa. The goblins would seek to dissuade them from reaching the doorway by throwing everything they had at them. ¡°K¨¢rsek, South One¡±

    A wall rose shudderingly up to block off the goblins approach, but many more clambered up from below, hiking their wiry bodies into view as they appeared on broken columns, rotten walls, or even up the length of trees.

    Javelins started to fall. Harald grimaced and kept his kite shield up, which shuddered again and again as it took blows. One javelin sliced in from behind and hit his shoulder, sinking deep into the muscle that connected to his neck.

    Harald felt no pain, but the weight of the embedded javelin and the sudden weakness in his sword arm were warning enough; he quickly sheathed his blade, pulled the javelin free, then absorbed an Aurora Veil that hung about his neck.

    He hefted the javelin, spotted a target, and took two steps forward to hurl.

    The javelin flew from his hand, missing the goblin by a foot. It stared at him, eyes bulging, and hopped off its perch to fall into the mist.

    ¡°Charge north!¡± barked Nessa, and Harald barely had time to draw his blade as they broke into a run as one.

    The huge building was right there, and the pack of goblins had grown to about a dozen. They chittered and screeched their fear and hate, weapons raised, then broke and ran into the archway as Harald and Vic activated their Aura of the Aching Depths and Aura of Cruelty.

    ¡°Stay tight!¡± yelled Nessa as they plunged into the dark tunnel. It was just broad enough for them to run two abreast.

    There were no lights up ahead. Goblins could see in the darkness.

    But Harald knew what awaited them.

    The goblin boss and his small army.

    Finally, he thought. It was time to really fight.

 Chapter 69

    A massacre can be a beautiful thing.

    They powered into the center of the building. It was a giant stone womb. Walls curved up to form a precarious dome overhead, roughly built, looking on the verge of falling in. Broken columns rose up like rotting teeth, but enough reached the roof to keep it stable.

    An altar dominated the center of the wide-open chamber. Atop it stood what had to be the goblin boss. He was large, twice the size of a regular goblin, his body festooned with bones and oddments of armor. A giant serrated scimitar lay athwart his green shoulders. He was barking commands in goblinoid, his voice booming over the chaos.

    A sea of goblins lay between the crew and the boss. The second row wielded their javelins like spears, forming a rough phalanx, while the first brandished their short blades. They were terrified, fangs bared, hissing and spitting and screaming out curses.

    The crew crashed into them without regard.

    Harald, exhilarated, exalted, unleashed the full power of his Aura of the Aching Depths. It fell upon the goblins like a malediction, causing those before him to cower, their eyes rolling like terrified dogs. His blade ran jet black as Abyssal Attunement swept down its length, and when he summoned Dark Vigor he practically wanted to laugh.

    At long last they closed with their tricksy foes.

    Multiple auras overlapped. Vic¡¯s Aura of Cruelty, Sam and Nessa¡¯s boosting auras. K¨¢rsek began detonating the ground beneath the second row, causing fragments of rock to blast out and shred the wiry bodies.

    And then the lines met. Javelins and swords clanged against Harald¡¯s shield, which he kept raised, only to sweep it aside and thrust his arming sword into the maelstrom of bodies and limbs before him.

    It was like fighting a wave of hatred. He caught flashes of faces, weapons, limbs, burning eyes. Then he¡¯d raise his shield, block blows, only to sweep a great overhead chop down onto the enemies, his strength such that he severed limbs or shattered the cheap swords.

    A white flash blasted out as Nessa¡¯s Echoing Shot leaped from goblin to goblin. Vic was singing something operatic, his virtuoso skill with the arming sword evident as he parried and disarmed foes with abandon, never leaving Harald¡¯s left flank. On his right stood Nessa, grim and ferocious. Beyond her, Sam.

    They waded into the goblins, who screeched and gave way.

    Then the boss leaped from the altar and strode into the front ranks to confront Nessa.

    Harald resisted the urge to jockey for position so as to fight the brute. The boss was powerfully built for a goblin, but his defenses were poor. His blade swept down, nearly decapitating the closest goblin, and Nessa shrank behind her kite shield whose upper half was lopped off.

    But the boss over-extended, his huge sword swinging wide, and it was child¡¯s play for Nessa to thrust her blade into his side¡ªonly for a goblin to leap into the way, taking the mortal wound and dragging Nessa¡¯s sword down.

    The boss laughed, a gargling, horrific sound, and reversed his blow even as Nessa wrenched at her trapped sword.

    Almost Harald broke formation. Almost he left Vic to lunge at the boss, to distract, deflect the blow.

    But Nessa had drilled one thing and one thing over all others into their minds: never break formation unless called for.

    So he restrained himself just as Nessa cried out, ¡°K¨¢rsek! North Two!¡±

    The ground beneath the boss hollowed out and became a trench.

    The boss¡¯s laugh became a cough of surprise; he staggered back, his swing losing all power, just as Nessa tore her blade free. Sam¡¯s Shield of Valor floated right into the boss¡¯s face, driving him farther back.

    ¡°Harry! Eyes on the prize!¡± barked Vic.

    Harald renewed his assault on the thinning ranks before him. It was the oddest thing. He took blows on the shield, then gave them. Chops and thrusts. The arming sword had reach on the goblin blades, but occasionally a javelin jabbed at him from around the side, seeking his shins, his shoulder.

    But Aura of the Aching Depths oppressed the goblins so that they were haphazard in their attacks, irresolute; they melted away before him, before the black fire that raged across his skin and gave him indefatigable power.

    Then he was through. The goblins parted and the way opened to the altar.

    Instinct bade him run forward, to wheel and flank the boss.

    But Vic was still fighting four goblins. Harald gritted his teeth and instead set to aiding him, slashing and stabbing till the wiry monsters screamed, broke, and fled.

    ¡°Roll the flank!¡± sang Vic as if it were a lyric in his opera.

    Moving quickly, they swung around to press the remaining goblins. Sam had entangled many on her end, thorn vines wrapping around some four or five, even as the Shield of Valor swung to and fro, foiling their attempts to hurl javelins.

    The boss had retreated to the altar and was barking furious commands.

    But there weren¡¯t enough goblins left to execute them.

    With a shout of fury, he waded forward again.

    ¡°K¨¢rsek, North Three!¡±

    The ground beneath the boss detonated, badly wounding the inside of its knees. The boss howled, hobbled forward, and this time Nessa executed a perfect lunge, sliding the tip of her arming sword into its left eye.

    The goblin boss croaked, dropped his huge scimitar, then collapsed.

    The last of the fight went out of the goblins. They streamed out of the building like rats, dropping into the mist below through cracks or right through the walls.

    A moment later their crew stood alone, panting for breath and grinning at each other.

    ¡°Well all right!¡± said Sam, beaming. ¡°That was¡­ that was great!¡±

    ¡°A poet you are not,¡± grinned Vic. ¡°But a beautiful raider? Sure.¡±

    ¡°Well done, everyone.¡± Nessa drew her blade free of the boss¡¯s head. ¡°And¡­ well.¡± She smiled a new kind of smile, private and pleased.

    ¡°Darling?¡± Vic raised an eyebrow. ¡°Do confess.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re looking at a Bladeweaver Level 5,¡± beamed Nessa, unable to restrain her emotion. ¡°By the Fallen Angel it¡¯s been a long time coming.¡±

    ¡°Wonderful!¡± Vic stepped in to hug her, only to pull back at the last second. ¡°Oh. You¡¯re covered in goblin blood.¡±

    Nessa laughed. ¡°Take care of the chest. I¡¯ve some notifications to read.¡±

    K¨¢rsek was moving grimly from goblin to goblin, rapping each one with deliberate force in the face with his hammer. Harald was going to question this when one goblin leaped up, wounded in the arm but otherwise hale, and tried to dart off.

    K¨¢rsek raised a wall before it, then stepped in and pasted the back of its head into its front.

    ¡°Smart,¡± said Harald.

    ¡°My kind has fought goblins and worse in the depths for many, many centuries.¡± K¨¢rsek resumed his double checking. ¡°Even though I¡¯ve never taken part, I grew up on the tales. Never trust a dead goblin till you can see the color of its brains.¡±

    ¡°Ew,¡± said Sam. Then: ¡°Silver Starbursts!¡±

    They¡¯d started appearing over the corpses. A couple of scales at most, but there had to be some thirty dead. She and Harald made quick work collecting them, and it felt like the sweetest reward, to just stride back and forth harvesting Starbursts from the air. They collected the sixty or so scales, poured them into Sam¡¯s pouch, and then grinned at each other.

    ¡°Children,¡± called Vic. ¡°Don¡¯t dally. You¡¯ll miss the best part.¡±

    He was up behind the altar, and when they reached him they saw the chest. Iron bound, it was latched but not locked.

    ¡°Should we be watching our backs?¡± asked Sam, turning warily to watch the walls.

    ¡°Nah,¡± said Vic. He grinned up at her, a stray lock of golden hair falling over one eye. ¡°This level respects a win. Or perhaps it is the goblins that have a modicum of gentility to their sordid souls? Upon killing a boss you¡¯re left well alone for a spell. We can relax.¡±

    Harald found it hard to do so, but Vic¡¯s opening of the chest caught his attention.

    With a grand gesture the Rapier Regent flung the lid open, and revealed a flickering, mercurial cloud within.

    ¡°Come on,¡± said Vic, rubbing his hands together. ¡°I need something good for the ladies at the Kitty Kat Club.¡±

    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

    The cloud revolved, sparkling and alive, only to coalesce and form a dagger that remained suspended in the air.

    ¡°Artifact!¡± crowed Vic. He plucked it from the air, read the invisible description, then shrugged. ¡°Not bad. Not bad.¡±

    Sam took it next, then handed it to Harald, who eagerly read the description.

    Artifact Acquired: Ratcatcher

    Quality: Common

    Special Ability: Just One More

    Activation: There¡¯s always one more foe. Whenever the Ratcatcher is thrown at an enemy, it shall return to its owner¡¯s hand immediately thereafter.

    +1 to Dexterity while held

    Limitation: Should the Ratcatcher be seized by another¡¯s hand, it shall lose its returning ability till dropped.

    ¡°Common,¡± said Vic, rising to his feet. ¡°It might fetch a thousand scales or so at auction. Not bad!¡±

    ¡°Useful against all these goblins,¡± agreed Sam, handing it over to the Rapier Regent. ¡°We¡¯re sorely lacking in ranged attacks.¡±

    ¡°True,¡± allowed Vic, ¡°but to what end? There are a hundred more to take any slain goblin¡¯s place, and most of them are too far off for us to collect the scales. Best to simply move quickly toward our destination. Now! Let¡¯s see what Nessa¡¯s earned.¡±

    They rounded the altar to where Nessa stood. At their approach, she blinked and focused on them, that private smile still lingering on her lips.

    ¡°Well?¡± Vic grinned. ¡°Don¡¯t make me beg, Nessa. It¡¯s undignified.¡±

    ¡°New Active, new Passive,¡± she said, voice thrumming with satisfaction. ¡°The Active is¡­ well, suffice to say that I like it very much.¡±

    ¡°Just read the damn thing,¡± said Vic. ¡°You know I¡¯ll get it out of you sooner or later.¡±

    Nessa pretended to frown but tossed her braid behind her shoulder instead and recited: ¡°Active Ability Unlocked: Crescent Arc. Crescent Arc slashes through your foes, forming a sweeping energy blade that damages and slows all within its path, mastering the battlefield¡¯s flow with precision and power.¡±

    ¡°Area control,¡± said Vic, approving. ¡°A very nice upgrade to your repertoire.¡±

    Nessa executed a mock-curtsy, then resumed reading. ¡°Passive Ability Unlocked: Mystic Bind. Each parry steals your enemy¡¯s vigor, subtly sapping their strength while boosting your own, weaving their dwindled power into your escalating dominance.¡±

    ¡°Nessa doesn¡¯t do much parrying,¡± objected Sam. ¡°She tends to just kill her foes.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s because we¡¯re farting around on the 13th floor, dear.¡± Vic shook his head. ¡°Nessa should be in the low to mid-20¡¯s, where she¡¯s far more likely to run into enemies that can duel her for an extended period of time. This power seems a not unsubtle nudge that she should hie her pert rear to where she belongs.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a good Passive,¡± agreed Nessa. ¡°The more powerful my foe, the more I¡¯ll wear them down as I steal their strength.¡± Her smile was predatory. ¡°I¡¯ll take them both.¡±

    K¨¢rsek joined them, his hammer dripping gore. ¡°And this floor is rich in Earthblood. I¡¯ve already channeled more down here than I have in years combined.¡±

    Harald couldn¡¯t help but feel a thrill. ¡°What do you think, Nessa? How did we do?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re not done yet.¡± She drew a cloth from her belt and wiped her sword clean. ¡°But overall, thus far?¡± She pretended to consider. ¡°Not too bad.¡±

    ¡°Not too bad,¡± mocked Sam.

    ¡°And we¡¯ve scored ourselves a Common Artifact,¡± crowed Vic, tossing the Ratcatcher up and so that it spun. ¡°That¡¯s an Aurora Veil right there, making this a most delightfully lucrative expedition already.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s the call?¡± K¨¢rsek glanced from Harald to Nessa. ¡°Do we press on?¡±

    ¡°I believe so.¡± Nessa looked over the crew. ¡°Anybody take any serious wounds?¡±

    It turned out that only K¨¢rsek and Harald had all taken direct hits from javelins at some point, though those had all been healed away. With nobody sporting worse than scrapes or cuts, Nessa inclined her head. ¡°Another goblin boss at the very least. Now. A word of caution. Don¡¯t get cocky. We did well in here, but that¡¯s because we held formation. Well done, Sam and Harald.¡±

    Harald felt a wave of warmth pass through him at her praise. Which was so odd: it truly felt like the Delve Captain were recognizing his discipline, not the wild and destructive Nessa.

    ¡°But success breeds contempt for our foes. Don¡¯t fall for that trap. All it takes is one javelin in the eye and you¡¯re dead. Keep your shields at the ready, stay in formation, and we¡¯ll have a repeat of this battle in due time. Clear?¡±

    Everyone nodded their assent.

    ¡°Good. In that case, let¡¯s move on.¡±

    Harald cast one last look around the cavernous chamber. The number of dead goblins was at once appalling and incredible. This hadn¡¯t been a duel, or a skirmish. This had been a proper battle, some thirty against five. No contest, really, but still: they¡¯d fought well together, maintained their discipline, and because of that, they¡¯d won without any losses.

    Harald felt grimly excited at the prospect of another battle just like it.

    Nessa moved to a western exit, leaned against the frame, and peered outside into the haze. ¡°Each subsequent boss encounter gets tougher. More goblins. I¡¯ve heard that if crews insist for too long, you can start to get multiple goblin bosses at once.¡±

    ¡°Won¡¯t be a problem for us,¡± said Sam, moving up alongside her, blade in hand.

    ¡°No,¡± smiled Nessa. ¡°It won¡¯t. Form up. We¡¯re going to move fast.¡±

    They assumed positions, shields raised. Nessa glanced back, made sure they were ready, then strode through the archway and outside.

    The assault began immediately.

    The goblins looked pissed. This time round they popped up in small groups to hurl their javelins only to immediately hop out to drop into the mist and disappear. Solo fighters ran along retaining walls on far plazas to hurl their weapons at opportune times, while others retreated before Nessa, gibbering and gesticulating and urging her to come at them.

    The pressure was intense. Javelins rained down upon them regularly, and Harald¡¯s kite shield thrummed and jolted in his grip. The skin between his shoulder blades itched; the greatest danger came from javelins thrown high to drop past Sam¡¯s defenses and hit him in the rear.

    But success had built even more faith in their strategy, so he held firm, hustling across the ruined squares, hurrying up weathered flights of steps, squeezing in against K¨¢rsek when the walkways and freestanding passages between plazas grew too narrow.

    His shield was starting to look busted, great cracks running vertically down its inside, and more and more of the javelins were lodging into its face before he could shake them off or sweep his blade down its outside to knock them off.

    ¡°Getting feisty!¡± called Vic. ¡°I¡¯ve a naughty looking bunch gathering to the south! Maybe ten!¡±

    ¡°K¨¢rsek, South One, South Two.¡±

    K¨¢rsek grunted in the affirmative and got to work.

    A hangman¡¯s tree appeared in the mist, its branches draped with hoary old nooses, goblins gathered in its canopy like a flock of ribald crows. A good eight or nine of them, and a leader with a red headband called out a count, waving his arm with each number, and then dropped his arm.

    ¡°Incoming!¡± barked Harald, guts clenching as the hail of javelins came slicing toward him. ¡°Eight!¡±

    His momentary panic was washed away by Sam¡¯s Beacon of Hope. It filled with calm certainty, assured him that he wasn¡¯t alone, that this might look bad but was entirely manageable.

    Gritting his teeth, Harald raised his shield and hunkered behind it, resisting the urge to put his shoulder to the wood. It¡¯d take just one javelin punching through if he did to slam into him as well.

    Then Sam¡¯s Shield of Valor was there, sliding in horizontally and at an angle, protecting the space above his head.

    The javelins hit with a thunderous clatter, bounced off, but one slid past his shield to hit Nessa in the side, a second sliding in neatly between his kite and Sam¡¯s Shield to punch into K¨¢rsek behind him.

    Nessa stumbled, releasing her shield so that it hung from the harness as she tore the javelin out. K¨¢rsek came to a stop, falling to one knee as he gasped in pain.

    Harald fought the urge to help. His responsibility was to hold the flank, and sure enough, goblins came boiling up over the walkway¡¯s retaining wall right before him, having timed their assault come right after the volley of javelins.

    He tapped the Aching Depths, and the dark, frigid abyss fell upon the goblins, robbing them of their frenzied initiative. Then he activated Dark Vigor, and what fear, what doubt he¡¯d felt was burned away by a frenzy of might and raw energy. Blade burning black, he pressed forward a step to catch the goblins atop the knee-high wall, and swept his arming sword laterally across their front.

    Goblins ducked, others leaped back in surprise, while one sought to parry. Its curved blade was insufficient to the task; Harald swept his sword across its neck even as he backed a second with his kite shield to knock it off its perch into the mist below.

    Sam yelled something, but it sounded more affirmative than panicked.

    A goblin stabbed feebly at Harald, but the Aching Depths made it tentative; Harald blocked, momentarily feeling the bind, then knocked the sword aside to thrust his own into the goblin¡¯s chest. It sank deep, lodged. A goblin leaped high into view, somehow springing right over the retaining wall, and Harald raised his kite to intercept even as he booted the slain goblin the chest to tear free his blade.

    It was close bloody work for a few moments longer, but with Dark Vigor and both Thrones empowering the Depths, the goblins just didn¡¯t have the heart to go toe-to-toe. Two more died before the rest cried out in anger and fear and leaped back down into the mist.

    Panting for breath, a single gash opened across his thigh, Harald glanced behind. K¨¢rsek was rising to his feet, and Nessa had already hurled her javelin at the retreating goblins before her.

    Both were healed.

    ¡°Press north!¡± Nessa shouted, ¡°don¡¯t get bogged down!¡±

    Harald snatched up what floating Silver Starbursts he could as they resumed hustling along the walkway.

    They crossed three more squares, but the goblins didn¡¯t mount such a concentrated assault again. Instead they screeched their hatred, taunted and insulted their crew, hurled javelins, but otherwise hung back, overwhelmed by their party¡¯s lethality.

    A new goblin building hove into view, emerging from the cancerous haze to loom massively at the end of a spindly wooden bridge. Domed like the first, it appeared if anything more massive, built of cyclopean blocks and covered in orange lichen.

    ¡°Here we go,¡± called Nessa, leading them to the base of the bridge. It was narrow, just barely wide enough for one of them to cross at a time. ¡°I¡¯ll take point, then Sam, K¨¢rsek, Harald, Vic. Now!¡±

    Harald couldn¡¯t help but admire her decisiveness. No doubt, no biting her nail as she considered what to do next. Quick as a flash Nessa ran out over the haphazard bridge, kite shield raised, arming sword held in the Ox guard, racing for the distant entrance.

    Sam ran after her, then K¨¢rsek took a deep breath, wiped blood from his brow, and pounded after, heavy hammer held across his chest with both hands.

    ¡°For love and glory,¡± winked Vic, giving Harald a shove. ¡°Have at it, Harry-boy!¡±

    Harald ran after. The mist boiled on both sides but parted occasionally to reveal the ground level; it was packed dirt, and here and there darted a shadowy goblin, running to some war post.

    Nessa ran right through the archway. No goblins had been posted outside on guard; for a moment Harald thought she was going to charge right into the central chamber by herself, but then she stopped a few paces in, half-turning to stretch out her arm and arrest Sam¡¯s sprint.

    ¡°Easy,¡± said Nessa, shoulders rising and falling. ¡°No guards means they¡¯ve most likely prepared a surprise for us.¡±

    ¡°Aye,¡± said K¨¢rsek, catching his breath. ¡°Trap, most like. Perhaps a wire to collapse the entrance. I¡¯ll go first, I¡¯m good at spotting those.¡±

    Vic jogged up, his air casual. ¡°A small army is coming up behind us. Perhaps twenty, thirty? I didn¡¯t stop to count.¡±

    ¡°Hammer and anvil,¡± said Nessa. ¡°K¨¢rsek, advance.¡±

    ¡°Hammer and anvil?¡± asked Sam, catching her breath. Her Shield of Valor had disappeared, but the Thornguard hung on her arm.

    ¡°Goblins are canny,¡± said Nessa. ¡°They adapt. So they¡¯re bringing resources against us in the hopes of overwhelming us. Anvil up ahead. The small army behind us is the hammer.¡±

    K¨¢rsek moved forward, all but sniffing the air as he examined the stonework on both sides. He needed no lantern, so that for a moment he looked lost, an old man trying to find his way through a darkened hallway at night.

    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t worry,¡± said Vic. ¡°They¡¯re just goblins. The way to deal with a hammer and anvil is laughably simple.¡±

    ¡°Crush the anvil, then turn and destroy the hammer,¡± agreed Nessa, sighting out over the spindly bridge. ¡°They picked their terrain well. We can¡¯t return to fight the hammer with that bridge in place. They¡¯d hold the far end and take us one at a time as we came at them.¡±

    Harald nodded swiftly, trying to remain abreast of all that was being discussed. ¡°So into the chamber?¡±

    ¡°Into the chamber,¡± agreed Nessa, raising her shield and setting out after K¨¢rsek. ¡°Let¡¯s see what manner of anvil they¡¯ve set up for us.¡±

    ¡°I hope it¡¯s a good one,¡± grinned Vic. ¡°The bigger the anvil, the better the chest.¡±

    Harald flashed a smile, but his heart was pounding. This was all happening so fast. But he set off after Nessa, the light of his lantern causing the shadows to warp and stretch across the rough stones of the passage.

    But there was no denying the excitement he felt.

    An even bigger battle awaited them ahead.

    There was nowhere else he¡¯d rather be.

 Chapter 70

    It rapidly became evident why the goblin bosses had chosen this chamber for a last stand.

    As before, it was a single grand room, the ceiling domed overhead. There were no light sources, but the raiders¡¯ scale-lanterns picked out the small army of goblins awaiting them, along with two goblin bosses standing shoulder to shoulder on the main altar.

    But the lower half of the walls were pocked with alcoves, and in each stood a goblin, a bundle of javelins by their side.

    There was no time for second guessing. Nessa led their small crew into the battle without hesitation.

    Beacon of Hope and Harmonic Resonance suffused them with steadfast confidence. From Sam Harald derived a sense of unwavering spirit, her presence inspiring courage and determination. From Nessa came a more martial sort of inspiration, a sense that with her at the helm they couldn¡¯t fail, that under her guidance they could and would fight to their utmost.

    Buoyed by both auras, Harald let out a wordless war cry, kite shield held high, as he in turn unleashed Aura of the Aching Depths. His twin Thrones roared as the Fallen Angel empowered his Passive, and cold despair fell upon the goblins before him.

    Vic in turn weaponized his Aura of Cruelty, so that even Harald, who wasn¡¯t its target, felt the Rapier Regent exude a menacing aura that verged on the monstrous.

    The goblins before them both wilted back, eyes wide in fear.

    Javelins began pouring in from above.

    The goblin bosses roared their commands and leaped into the fray.

    The urge to run amok was overwhelming. To just abandon formation and do whatever needed doing.

    But Harald hewed to his instructions. He kept his shield up, his black abyssal blade at the ready, fell power from Dark Vigor washing over him.

    Their lines clashed. The goblin before him croaked in horror, sword clutched in both hands, its eyes wide. Harald slew it, parried a sword thrust from the side, then chopped at another goblin.

    Vic, blade dancing in his hand, reached up to cut a javelin from the air, neatly slicing it in half so that it fell about Harald harmlessly.

    And again. Somehow Vic was both fighting the foes before him and slashing the falling javelins, providing Harald with cover.

    The goblins in the raised alcoves were a problem. Nessa hadn¡¯t commanded it, but Harald took the initiative. He summoned his Shadow Mastiff.

    Black shadows writhed just behind him, and he sensed more than saw the dire hound appear, its snarl rising as it apprehended the situation.

    ¡°The alcoves!¡± barked Harald, not daring to take his gaze away from the goblins before him. ¡°Clear the alcoves!¡±

    With a great bark the Mastiff bounded away to the side, and out of the corner of his eye Harald saw it charge the goblin flank. At the last second it bayed, that echoing, terrifying sound, and the goblins scattered before it, dropping their weapons in their haste.

    The Mastiff ran across the chamber and leaped into the first alcove. The goblin in it screamed in horror, then fell silent as huge jaws snapped shut.

    Good.

    Then the goblin before Harald dove aside, and a boss stepped into his place. Harald grinned, his heart pounding, his blood lust up. The goblin boss had a swollen stomach, a truly prodigious paunch that it had daubed with white and black paint. He wore iron paldrons over his skinny shoulders, and wielded a great spike-headed mace. The boss bellowed, sending ropes of spit flying, and brought his mace crashing down.

    Vic moved with impossible grace, sliding forward and behind the boss, his blade flickering out to caress the goblin¡¯s side.

    The boss, distracted, half-turned, and much of the lethality of his blow was lost. Harald took the blow upon his raised shield, which crunched and shattered, but of course he felt no pain. Instead he stabbed his black blade into the boss¡¯s chest, only for the foe to somehow grab another goblin and wrest it before his attack.

    The goblin died, the boss leaped back as Vic stabbed, but Harald was forced to turn and deal with the flank that closed in on him now that Vic was gone. He doubled down on the Whisper, willing the enervating aura to act like a wall, to block the rush, and then an actual wall rose up, rising abruptly into place so that half the goblins crashed into it, and toppled over the top, screaming and cursing in dismay.

    Harald stepped forward and set to killing.

    Dark Vigor made him feel invincible. His kite shield was all but ruined, his left arm mangled, but he felt nothing but killing desire. Three, four blows from his blade and as many goblins fell, then the rest broke and scattered before him, their wills undone by the Whisper and the black flames leaping over his body.

    Gasping for breath, Harald turned in time to see Vic slay the boss. The Mastiff was leaping from alcove to alcove, terrifying the javelin-throwers who abandoned their perches. Nessa and Sam had finished their half, and even as Harald watched Nessa swept her arming sword about in a great swing that unleashed a crescent-shaped blast of white energy that sliced through the backs of the fleeing goblins, dropping another half dozen of them.

    ¡°Behind!¡± yelled K¨¢rsek. ¡°The hammer!¡±

    Goblins were pouring in through the archway, screaming their own battle cries, but as the crew turned to face them and as they ran into the overlapping auras they lost all momentum and staggered to a halt.

    Harald didn¡¯t blame them. Their dead were piled knee high.

    ¡°K¨¢rsek, South Three!¡±

    The center of their mass detonated from below, rock fragments blasting up and sending them staggering. ¡°South attack!¡±

    Their crew wheeled and charged even as more goblins came pouring into the room. Some hurled javelins, and Harald saw one come flying for his face, almost as if underwater, everything seeming to slow down, and then Nessa leaned out wide to cut it down mid-air much as Vic had done.

    Everything snapped back into overwhelming volume and speed.

    Harald rushed into the goblin phalanx, beating aside blades and ducking javelin thrusts as they fought. K¨¢rsek unleashed detonation after detonation, and Nessa¡¯s new Crescent Arc attack utterly destroyed them.

    A few moments later the last of the goblins were fleeing, and the chamber was theirs.

    Harald drew back, breathing hard. The fight had been intense, and for a moment all had been snarls and stabs, lurid wounds and the clash of weapons.

    But now the dead and dying lay tossed upon the floor, the stones slick with blood, the smell of copper heavy in the air.

    Everybody checked in on everyone else. Vic was at the back by the altar, standing over the corpse of the second goblin boss. The alcoves were clear of javelin hurlers, and the Shadow Mastiff came loping up to Harald, crimson tongue lolling out the side of its brutal jaws, clearly pleased with himself.

    ¡°Good job,¡± said Harald, daring to pet the monstrous hound. He sank his fingers into its thick ebon pelt and roughly scritched it behind the ears. It raised its huge head, eyes closing, and panted happily.

    ¡°Don¡¯t recall asking you to summon that,¡± said Nessa, tone hard.

    ¡°There were dozens of goblins up in the alcoves,¡± said Harald, enjoying being allowed to pet the Mastiff more than he could say. ¡°It seemed the right move.¡±

    ¡°It was the right move,¡± said Vic, checking his blade as he ambled over. ¡°Those javelins are a pain. I for one didn¡¯t mind having them cleared in the least.¡±

    Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

    K¨¢rsek was studying the giant Mastiff with something akin to fascinated horror.

    ¡°Yes, I suppose.¡± Nessa all but sniffed. ¡°Fine. Well done.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s just so effusive with her praise,¡± grinned Vic. ¡°Another battle won! If it were against something other than goblins, I¡¯d feel almost proud.¡±

    ¡°It was a real battle,¡± protested Sam, checking her chainmail where she¡¯d taken a blow. ¡°What do you mean, almost proud?¡±

    ¡°Darling, goblins?¡± Vic raised a brow. ¡°This has all the trappings of a real fight but for the lack of real fighters.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s excellent practice,¡± said Nessa. ¡°But the 13th Level is hardly a real challenge. We might sustain a few wounds, but nothing here can stand against us.¡±

    ¡°Especially that Crescent attack of yours,¡± grinned Harald. ¡°Devastating.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± said Nessa, desperately trying not to look pleased. ¡°Not bad.¡±

    ¡°Not bad, she says.¡± Vic sighed mockingly. ¡°Well, I think after this run we¡¯ve no need to return. What do you think, Nessa? Level 14 next?¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s on Level 14?¡± asked K¨¢rsek, beginning to move from goblin to goblin again.

    ¡°More goblins,¡± replied Nessa, drawing out her towel to clean her sword. ¡°Though these are led by hobgoblins.¡±

    Harald dimly remembered reading about those once. ¡°They¡¯re the bigger, more dangerous kind?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± agreed Nessa. ¡°The goblins fear them enough to enter hand-to-hand battle when commanded. The 14th only features small squads of the hobs, but they¡¯re much more of a handful. We can tackle them tomorrow.¡±

    ¡°Tomorrow?¡± asked Sam, delighted. ¡°So soon?¡±

    Nessa snorted. ¡°This is excellent training. And the 14th is hardly all that dangerous. So why not?¡±

    ¡°Chest!¡± Vic¡¯s eyes opened wide. ¡°Why by the angels are we standing around chatting when there¡¯s a chest to be opened? Have we gone mad?¡± And he darted off around the back of the altar. ¡°Chest!¡± He pointed at the hidden object. ¡°Found it!¡±

    Nessa smiled and shook her head.

    Harald hurried over, just as eager, and saw Vic flip the latch and swing open the lid. A cloud of coruscating silver hovered within, flashing and scintillating, only for it to coalesce and form three Golden Dawns.

    ¡°Aw,¡± sighed Vic, expression dropping. ¡°That¡¯s it? Three Golden Dawns?¡±

    Sam reached down and scooped them up. ¡°Everything counts.¡±

    ¡°I suppose.¡± Vic shook his head dolorously. ¡°I hate chests.¡±

    They spent some time tending to their gear. Harald and Nessa¡¯s shields were demolished, Sam had taken a nasty stab to the ribs that she¡¯d absorbed an Aurora Dawn to heal, and Vic wouldn¡¯t stop complaining about the blood splashed across his clothing.

    ¡°I think we¡¯re good for today,¡± said Nessa when they finally gathered round. ¡°No sense in continuing without shields.¡±

    ¡°I need a bath,¡± said Vic urgently.

    Harald looked to Sam. ¡°How did we do?¡±

    ¡°Pretty well.¡± She bounced her heavy pouch in her palm. ¡°Sixty-three Silvers from the first battle, eighty-seven from this one. Plus a Golden Dawn for each boss slain, and three more from the chest. Add in the value of the Ratcatcher, and we¡¯re looking at a haul of about 3,000 Copper Moons.

    ¡°Not bad,¡± agreed Harald with a smile.

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t cover our expenses,¡± said Nessa. ¡°Especially seeing as I¡¯m Level 5 now.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re getting closer to breaking even,¡± protested Harald. ¡°Definitely moving in the right direction. And how about just one more goblin boss base?¡±

    ¡°Hmm,¡± said Vic, looking over to Nessa. ¡°He¡¯s eager.¡±

    ¡°Too eager. He doesn¡¯t even have a shield.¡± She stared at him. ¡°No, Harald. We¡¯re heading back. This was our first outing, and it went well. No need to push it.¡±

    Harald bit back his retort. There was a need to push it. They had plenty of scales for healing, he could fashion a shield out of something, or perhaps Sam could position her Shield of Valor beside him.

    But Nessa was the Delve Captain, and her expression was set.

    ¡°Fine,¡± he said.

    ¡°Exiting a level is far easier than making our way deeper,¡± said Nessa, leading the way back to the entrance archway over the fallen bodies. ¡°If we move quickly, the goblins should be content to let us go. Everyone ready?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± said K¨¢rsek.

    Harald gave the Mastiff one final scritch then dismissed it back to his Cosmos. He pulled the leather harness of his shoulder, considered tossing it away, then let it fall back in place. They could use it for his next shield.

    The ground rumbled.

    ¡°What was that?¡± asked Sam, eyes flaring wide.

    K¨¢rsek gripped his hammer tightly. ¡°The Earthblood just spiked. Like a leyline rising.¡±

    Vic and Nessa were staring at each other, eyes wide.

    ¡°We move,¡± whispered Nessa. ¡°Fast.¡±

    Harald had never heard that kind of urgency from her.

    ¡°What is it?¡± he called as she took off down the tunnel.

    The ground trembled again, shivers running up through Harald¡¯s legs. The rocks above creaked and groaned as they settled against each other.

    ¡°Out,¡± barked Vic, pushing at Sam, who needed no urging.

    They all raced out of the boss building and back into the noxious haze of the 13th Level. Nessa didn¡¯t slow down.

    ¡°Forget formations!¡± she cried. ¡°Run for the portal!¡±

    ¡°What the hell is going on?¡± shouted Harald, pounding after her.

    ¡°A Shuddering!¡± she called back, and fear sluiced into Harald¡¯s soul.

    A Shuddering.

    Unheard of only a half century ago, they¡¯d become increasingly frequent. The Dungeon Portal would begin to act crazed, ignoring all attempts to control or open a way into the dungeon proper, spinning ever faster as it blurred and jerked about¡ªuntil one of the portals yawned open wide, unbidden, and began to vomit the monsters of that level into the plaza.

    And if you happened to be on that level when it was disgorged? Nobody knew what would happen, because there had never been any survivors. Only corpses found spat out onto the plaza¡¯s cobblestones.

    They raced across the torturous walkways, down rotten steps, across the collapsing plazas. Endless wizened trees and banks of mist. Goblins hooted and screamed their derision at the raiders as they ran by, but none of them threw javelins.

    ¡°There!¡± shouted Nessa in the lead. Up ahead was a familiar plaza, the same they¡¯d arrived in, and in its center stood the portal.

    Nessa dug out the requisite scale as she sprinted up to it, everyone crowding in behind, and when she raised the Crescent Moon the stone archway came to life, black fire and magic filling the space.

    But where before the black fire had filled the archway and remained constrained by it, now it flared right past. It was like some huge malefic bonfire on a windy mountain top, its flames set to streaming before cruel winds.

    ¡°What the fuck¡­¡± said Sam, reaching out to grab Harald¡¯s arm.

    Nessa grimaced, cast around, then raised her shield and sword. ¡°We go through! We¡¯ve no choice! After me!¡±

    Harald had to give it to Nessa. Whatever else she had going in her life, whatever forces were tearing her apart, dragging her down, making her self-destruct, she didn¡¯t lack for raw courage.

    Their Delve Captain ran forward and plunged into the flames.

    Sam went next, then K¨¢rsek.

    Vic clapped Harald on the shoulder. ¡°Go!¡±

    Harald needed no second bidding. He plunged into the portal. The abyss welcomed him, but his refined sense, his affinity for that utter lack, told him that everything was in chaotic flux, made even him feel stretched and pulled in every direction, till he staggered out into the Dungeon Plaza before the morning sun.

    Screams.

    Urgent shouts.

    The guards were backing away hurriedly from the platforms, faces upturned to the polyhedron, expressions panicked. Those who¡¯d been in line, raiders all, had drawn weapons and adopted fighting stances.

    The crowd that filled the plaza, from the vendors to the hawkers to the Humble Petitioners, were streaming away, into alleys, clogging the avenues, pushing and shoving.

    The polyhedron was going mad.

    It always span and blurred, but now it practically throbbed, swelling and shrinking, its facets burning bright as different ones darkened and then lit up. The air was filled with an insidious humming sound that Harald felt more in his teeth and the hollow of his chest than heard, and the air tasted of white-hot metal. Birds were flying away, crying in raucous panic, and a darkness akin to that cast by his own Aching Depths was stealing across the sky, covering the huge plaza like some smoky glass dome.

    ¡°Form up!¡± barked Nessa, the first to gather her wits.

    Harald blinked, rubbed at his face with his bicep, and then sheathed his arming sword so that he could summon the Dawnblade. Vic had his rapier in hand, Nessa her longsword.

    They clustered close. A good thirty raiders had been in line, most teams before the Copper Gate, one before the Silver. He saw House Emberfell colors, a motley collection of Nihtscua fighters, and the Silver-ranked team was House Drakenhart, all clad in crimson and steel gray.

    Biting his lower lip, he glanced to the edge of the plaza. Guards were swarming around the massive scale-golems, those huge investments on the part of the city that were meant to be their best line of defense against dungeon Shudderings. There were some twenty of them in a great ring against the outer buildings, huge and monolithic, each holding a huge and unique weapon. They weren¡¯t kept with scales inside them, however; the scales were of such high value, that doing so would require keeping guards on the golems at all times to prevent their being robbed on the sly.

    The guards sure as hell were loading them up now, unlocking the scale-boxes in which the valuable power sources were kept.

    ¡°Might be low,¡± said Vic, licking his lower lip as he watched the spinning polyhedron. ¡°Maybe Level 1? Just a mass of dire rats for us to stomp.¡±

    Nobody responded.

    Round and round the Dungeon Portal spun.

    The raiders who¡¯d been lined up at the gate were all backing away. The Silver-ranked Drakenhart group broke away to circle the polyhedron, providing defense where the Humble Petitioners were bolting.

    Harald felt his heart thudding.

    With a flexion of his will he reached for the Shadow Mastiff. It coalesced by his side, momentarily confused as it sniffed, turning its huge snout from side to side as it sought their prey. Then, some fell instinct guiding it, the Mastiff stared at the huge Portal and began to growl.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± whispered Harald. ¡°That¡¯s about the right of it.¡±

    Whatever was about to burst through was not going to be pretty.

    Which meant it was time for his heaviest hitters. With relief Harald summoned the Goldchops.

    They appeared beside him, one floating alongside each shoulder, heavy and glossy and wickedly powerful. Immediately he felt fresh Strength flood his body, along with a sensation of precision and lightness.

    Strength and Dexterity +2.

    The Mastiff¡¯s hackles were spiked up, wisps of shadow boiling off its pelt. Harald raised the Dawnblade to the Ox, the abyssal point of his sword aimed directly at the portal.

    Shouts and the sound of people running across the plaza reached him from a distance. But everything seemed to fade away as the moment grew still and calm and silent.

    It felt like just him and the Portal.

    Just him and whatever was about to spill forth.

    ¡°Strength,¡± he whispered. ¡°So that one day, when I¡¯m needed, I¡¯m ready.¡±

    This was to be his first test.

    He was just Level 2.

    But it was better than nothing.

    Abruptly the polyhedron ceased spinning, going rigidly still, and one of its triangular portals went pitch black.

    ¡°Oh fuck,¡± Harald heard Vic whisper. ¡°Of fuck.¡±

 Chapter 71

    ¡°Level 21,¡± said Nessa as the triangular facet in the polyhedron yawned open wide. ¡°Terror birds!¡±

    Harald clenched the Dawnblade tightly as he stared at the portal. Small shapes appeared in its center, rapidly growing, hurtling outward, and then the first monster was spat out onto the cobblestones.

    It was a huge bird, bipedal, its legs long and naked and scaled. Black feathered with red markings, it whipped around with wiry strength, its huge head rising to fix its beady black eyes on the closest raider. It flapped its vestigial wings, surged up to standing, and only then did Harald appreciate how big the monster was.

    Easily some seven, eight feet tall, half of it those scaled legs ending in three hugely clawed toes, its neck thick to support the massive head, beak like a battle-ax, massively hooked at the tip, its feathers ruffed up in alarm, its tail feathers flared into a fan.

    ¡°Terror bird?¡± asked K¨¢rsek weakly. ¡°That¡­ that is a thing?¡±

    The terror bird took four long strides and then leaped onto the team of raiders who were backing away rapidly. Copper ranked, they were fronted by an armored man with a tower shield, who raised his defense desperately as the bird crashed down on him squawking and trilling with hunger.

    The weight of it bore the shield down, toes curving around its upper rim, and that huge head thwakked down, fast enough to blur, burying the point of its beak into the man¡¯s neck. The armor was useless. Blood fountained as he fell screaming, his companions shouting in dismay, moving in to deploy their abilities, but it was too late.

    Three more terror birds burst out the portal, two landing on their feet, one sliding out onto its side. They gazed around the plaza with hunger and avarice, shrilled their war cries, and exploded outwards.

    Damn they were fast.

    Faster than any man could ever hope to be. Fast as a galloping horse. Beaked heads pumping forward they ran together as a flock, the third rising belatedly to follow after.

    Right toward Harald and his crew.

    The Shadow Mastiff bayed as it ran out wide, and such was the power of the Level 27 monster that its warning howl caused the terror birds to flinch and swing out away from it¡ªbut they didn¡¯t abandon their prey. Instead they leaned into the turn, coming around to hit their crew¡¯s flank.

    Harald knew what he had to do. Even as the others raised kite shields and prepared their Abilities, he pushed past Sam to move to the fore.

    ¡°Go!¡± he barked, and the Goldchops, heavy, lethal, eternally patient, leapt to obey.

    They blurred out, head over haft, twin bolts of golden lighting. The terror birds saw them coming and squawked, ducking their heads and trying to dodge, but the Goldchops were Masterclass and simply swerved to follow.

    Each buried itself in a terror bird¡¯s chest with such power that the sternums and ribs exploded inward in a puff of feathers. The two birds tripped and fell, collapsing face first onto the cobblestones and rolling awkwardly, slain instantly.

    The third, the belated follower, surged past its two dead comrades, uncaring, and leaped.

    For a second Harald simply stared, eyes going wide as the terror bird soared into the sky, huge talons extended toward him, its screech the stuff of nightmares, and then he activated Dark Vigor and leaped aside.

    He hit the cobblestones hard, rolled, came up smoothly to his feet, and saw Nessa unleash her Crescent Arc, the great flash of white energy hammering into the terror bird¡¯s side and causing it to stumble.

    K¨¢rsek detonated the cobblestones beneath its feet at the same time, so that it faltered, hopped on one foot, and then Vic let out a laughing cry and lunged forward, his rapier flashing as he stabbed the terror bird in the chest.

    But still it fought on, its huge head swinging down, hooked beak looking to tear Vic¡¯s arm off at the shoulder.

    Only for the Shadow Mastiff to collide with it mid-spring, massive jaws clamping around the bird¡¯s neck as it smashed into its wounded flank and punched it off its feet to bring it crashing to the ground.

    ¡°Fuck,¡± whispered Harald, rolling out his shoulder.

    Chaos was engulfing the plaza.

    Terror birds were coming through without end. Groups of three, four, five, they were spat out to land roughly on their feet or sprawl out, only to gather their wits and streak off, screeching and twittering like bolts of beaked lightning. Already a dozen were wrecking ruin upon those who stood against them, and more and more were coming through.

    The Goldchops tore themselves free of the corpses and rose, dripping blood.

    ¡°I¡¯m going to block the Portal,¡± shouted Harald. ¡°Stay back!¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Sam was bewildered, horrified. ¡°What does that even mean?¡±

    Harald ran at the polyhedron. The Goldchops flew ahead of him, and never had he loved them more, the strength and speed they gave him, their sheer, absurd lethality.

    The Shadow Mastiff loped alongside him, peeling away at the last moment to run down a terror bird that was sprinting by.

    Harald opened his twin Thrones and poured his might into the Aching Depths. The area before the polyhedron grew dark and frigid, and the next trio of terror birds who fell out of the triangular portal squawked in dismay as they rose up within the boundaries of the abyss.

    But Harald wasn¡¯t moving to engage.

    He was just getting close enough for the Goldchops to get to work.

    They flew out wide only to curve back in and slice through two necks, spinning horizontally. Blood and feathers exploded as the terror birds collapsed, and then the third ran at him.

    Harald raised the Dawnblade, its length slicked black with Abyssal Attunement. Dark Vigor gave him wings, and he laughed as the chicken from hell came racing at him, fleet footed and more than he could hope to handle alone.

    The terror bird leaped, huge feet swinging forward to grapple him, and the Shield of Valor appeared midair before it, so that the bird slammed to a halt, letting out a whistling cry of confusion, and fell back to the cobblestones.

    Sam was there, her Beacon of Hope filling Harald with such emotion and relief that his eyes prickled as he grinned at her.

    Five terror birds leaped out of the portal to land before them, black and red feathers ruffled.

    They cocked their heads and immediately rushed at Harald and Sam.

    A wall tore itself out of the ground, rising some four feet abruptly, but the birds simply leaped over it with ease.

    Screams came from all around them, the cries of the terror birds, the sounds of bedlam and chaos.

    The Goldchops came flying back through, and two of the terror birds fell. The Shadow Mastiff ran in from behind, baying again, and that unholy, demonic howl caused the terror birds to flinch, two glancing back at its source, even as Vic stepped up alongside Harald, his Aura of Cruelty complimenting his Aura of the Aching Depths.

    But these were Level 21 monsters.

    They were not so easily dissuaded.

    Two leaped as one barreled in toward them.

    So fast. So hellishly fast.

    Nessa let out a cry of effort as she unleashed an upward angled Crescent Arc. Vic somehow glided away, off to the side, his motion fluid as he slashed out at the running bird¡¯s side, cutting open its wing.

    Sam moved the Shield of Valor before the running bird, but it simply knocked it aside, pounding past, and then it was upon them. Sam raised her Thornguard, but the huge beak swung past it, over the edge, and into her cuirass with such force that she was slammed to the ground.

    ¡°Sam!¡± Harald hewed with the Dawnblade, two-handed, and struck the bird across the leg. The wound turned black immediately and he felt a pulse of power, but the scales were tough, and he failed at cutting the leg off completely.

    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    Nessa and Vic were fighting the other two terror birds, both of which suddenly died as the Goldchops plowed through them like a scythe through feathered pillows. Both Goldchops then converged on the terror bird that was about to attack Sam again, knocking it bodily off its feet and almost into Harald.

    Who crouched beside Sam, eyes wide. The wound was terrible, a huge hole punched through the metal cuirass and just over her heart, everything dark and visceral red, blood welling up everywhere.

    ¡°Quick.¡± He dug out a scale and pressed it to her cheek. ¡°Hurry!¡±

    She grimaced, jaw clenched, and absorbed the Golden Dawn. Another, and the wound began to heal.

    ¡°Go,¡± she rasped. ¡°I¡¯m fine!¡±

    Harald rose and saw terror birds pouring out of the portal now like water from a hose, no longer coming through in groups but a constant rush, one after another, some landing atop each other so that they squawked huffily and clacked their beaks at each other.

    Another raiding team moved up to help, but it was impossible to stem the tide. The Goldchops crisscrossed again and again, dropping monsters with each pass, but the volume was too high.

    Twenty of the terror birds pushed out, snapping their beaks and letting loose haunting hunting cries.

    ¡°Back!¡± shouted Nessa. ¡°Fall back!¡±

    Harald heaved Sam to her feet. K¨¢rsek was backing away, sweating profusely as he raised wall after wall in the monsters¡¯ path, but there was clearly insufficient Earthblood here for the walls were three feet, some only two feet high.

    The Shadow Mastiff leaped atop the back of a terror bird, sinking its talons into the feathers as it chomped, only for a second to spear it in the back with its huge beak and tear it off and onto the ground.

    ¡°No!¡± shouted Harald, directing the Goldchops to help, but it was too late. Four terror birds encircled the Mastiff and swung their beaks down again and again, and a moment later Harald sensed the defeated Hound returning to his Cosmos.

    No time to think, to plan. The terror birds wouldn¡¯t let up. They had no strategy, no hesitation. They just came at you, fast as the wind, and their legs and necks were long enough that reach was a problem, their beaks already swinging down at you even as you tried to strike back.

    Vic moved alongside Harald, his rapier slashing out so rapidly that it formed a web of steel before them, a moving fence of wicked cuts that gave the closest terror birds pause. Nessa had been separated from their crew, birds rushing between them so that she fought her own retreating action, but it was clear she was struggling; her blade flashed again and again as she released Echoing Strikes and Crescent Arcs.

    But all the while the Goldchops did their bloody work. Back and forth they flew, inexhaustible, bloody-minded, slaughtering the terror birds wherever they span. Harald directed them to Nessa¡¯s aid, and they buried themselves in the huge birds that faced her, dropping two and then exploding out of their bodies like horrific babies to bury themselves in two more.

    A terror bird was on him. Suddenly it was just there, rearing up, massive battle-axe beak slashing down with all the power of a guillotine. Harald ducked aside as he swung at the beak, but he was too slow; the beak tore down the outside of his arm, shredding leather and ripping open his deltoid and triceps.

    He felt nothing.

    Turning smoothly, he used his Strength of 15 to bring the abyssal Dawnblade right across the bird¡¯s neck, shouting in fury as he wounded the bird.

    It squawked and leaped back, thick red blood spraying across its feathers, then lunged in again only for Sam to intervene with the Thornguard. Massive green vines immediately burst out from the shield to snake around the bird, wrapping it tight and burying black thorns into its feathered form as it fell over.

    More terror birds were coming through.

    Their crew was actively retreating now. Terror birds were racing around the perimeter of the plaza, harrying those who¡¯d remained behind, or taking off down side streets or into the avenues. A crowd of some fifty of them were pushing out from around the portal, and still more came.

    Panic and horror gripped Harald¡¯s heart.

    He wasn¡¯t strong enough to stop them.

    He had no empowered attacks of his own. He could barely go toe-to-toe with one, much less stop such a massive flock.

    Fury and frustration gripped him by the heart.

    He¡¯d not worked hard enough.

    He¡¯d not advanced fast enough.

    He¡¯d been insufficient.

    Then huge footsteps sounded from behind, the ground shivering, and a giant club came swinging down from above to collide with a descending terror bird that was dropping onto them. The club hit the bird square in the chest with such force that blood and feathers blew out as the bird was whacked back into the sky, neck suddenly lolling limply as it crashed far back in the flock.

    The scale-golem strode past Harald and entered the fray.

    It simply waded into the inrushing flock like a farmer amongst chickens. Standing eight feet tall, it was just slightly taller than the terror birds, but so solid, so massive, so powerful that they appeared zephyrs of the wind compared to a mountain.

    They pecked at him, harried him, slammed their beaks into his bronze side, but then the scale-golem swung his eight-foot long club and utterly destroyed three of them in one blow.

    It was awe inspiring. Built to resemble stylized dwarven warriors in full armor, they were gifts from the Anvil Kings of Dumr?n, thirty of them bestowed a century ago, though only twenty-three remained. They all gleamed of bronze, all wore massive armor, and each wielded a different weapon.

    But massive and unstoppable as the scale-golem was, it could stem the rushing terror birds no more than a single boulder could a flood. They simply parted around it and raced on.

    Harald stayed close to Vic so that their auras could work in combination, Sam¡¯s Beacon of Hope keeping his head in the game, his mind sharp, his resolve fierce. Together the three of them angled back to join up with Nessa whose left arm hung limp, her shoulder a bloody mass of ribbons.

    ¡°Behind,¡± barked Vic. ¡°Heal yourself!¡±

    Nessa didn¡¯t bother complaining.

    Harald brought the Goldchops in tighter, so that they simply swept back and forth before their crew along a path some ten yards wide. Anything that entered that murder zone was demolished, hewn apart, and it was only due to his Masterwork Artifact that they were still standing.

    They fought a tense retreat, and still the terror birds came. How many had run out into the city proper? It was a disaster. Bells were pealing the alarm, but how quickly would the people of Flutic respond, how quickly would they get out of the streets?

    Then the Dungeon Plaza convulsed.

    A vast shockwave burst forward from an unseen source, causing cobblestones to leap forth from their sockets, the ground to buckle, and some fifty or sixty terror birds to collapse in upon themselves as if stepped upon by an invisible giant.

    The violence was shocking, absolute, overwhelming.

    One moment a third of the Plaza was awash with surging, squawking terror birds, the next it was a butcher¡¯s floor of feathers and blood and broken bones.

    ¡°What the hell?¡± Harald turned, dazed, and saw the Hammerfell striding forward, eight feet tall in her steel plate armor, her crimson tabard blowing in the wind, her burgundy hair loose and framing her angelic face.

    Harald had never felt such relief.

    She wielded her absurdly massive blade in one hand. It was the size of a trestle table, its broad blade gleaming white as if drawn fresh from the forge.

    And her aura.

    By the Fallen Angel, her aura.

    Harald felt goosebumps wash across his arms, felt his own Aching Depths whimper and collapse upon itself before the sheer might of the Hammerfell¡¯s presence. His throat caught, his mind blanked, and she seemed to only loom more massive, not eight feet tall but eighteen.

    The terror birds oriented on this new threat and came, shrieking and leaping, to their doom.

    The Hammerfell swept her blade before her again, cleaving the air, and another shockwave rolled forth. Terror birds caught in its path simply burst apart, as if K¨¢rsek had detonated them from within.

    ¡°Excuse me,¡± said the Hammerfell, her voice soft but somehow carrying to where Harald and his crew stood, jaws agape. ¡°Mind stepping aside?¡±

    ¡°Run,¡± whispered Nessa, grabbing hold of Sam by the arm and hauling on her. ¡°Run!¡±

    Their crew raced away from the portal, but Harald couldn¡¯t help but turn even as he ran to watch the seventh most powerful raider in Flutic go to work.

    The scale-golems were closing around the portal itself, insensate and uncaring of Lady Hammerfell¡¯s assaults, but it was clear she was going to be the one to clear this threat.

    Again and again she chose a quadrant of the square to pacify and swung her huge sword. A deluge of force burst forth to liquefy the terror birds. She settled into a wide legged stance and just swung again and again.

    Hundreds of terror birds died.

    None were able to even get close to her.

    Their crew slowed and came to a stop. Other raiders were gathered around, watching in awe at what one of their best could do.

    Even his Goldchops felt insignificant compared to that level of power. Harald dismissed them, and felt his strength and speed diminish.

    But it only fed his feeling of insufficiency.

    Instead, he just watched what someone with real power quelled the Shuddering by herself.

    And by the Fallen Angel, Lady Hammerfell was awesome.

    ¡°You know,¡± said Vic, barely audible over the huge thrumming sound of the force waves. ¡°I don¡¯t think she¡¯d have much trouble with the goblins we just fought, either.¡±

    Sam snorted and shoved Vic¡¯s shoulder.

    ¡°What could give her trouble?¡± asked K¨¢rsek, tone wondering. ¡°This is true might we are seeing. Incredible.¡±

    ¡°She had to work hard against the Vortex Hydra on the 63rd,¡± said Harald. ¡°But that¡¯s barely halfway down into the dungeon.¡±

    ¡°Remember the statues on the 47th?¡± asked Sam softly. ¡°How overwhelming they seemed?¡±

    Harald tried to imagine Lady Hammerfell going up against one of those hollow statues with its flaming sword. Imagined her swinging her huge sword and demolishing it with one blow.

    ¡°Don¡¯t forget she¡¯s just using one Active,¡± said Nessa. ¡°The one best suited to this situation. She¡¯ll have a dozen others, along with her Passives.¡±

    ¡°And still she¡¯s capped at the 63rd,¡± said Vic. ¡°Makes you fear what might lurk on the 90th, does it not?¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s the deepest anyone has ever reached?¡± asked Harald.

    ¡°You mean returned from?¡± Sam shook her head in wonder. ¡°The Queencutter is said to have visited the 71st. One of the Anvil Kings is said to have lead a Doomforge Legion to the 80th, but¡­¡±

    K¨¢rsek passed his hand over his blood-soaked beard. ¡°King Brogar Ironheart, yes. We¡¯re taught of his folly in nursery songs.¡±

    ¡°Folly?¡± asked Vic. ¡°That sounds an apt description of a venture to the 80th.¡±

    K¨¢rsek just stroked his beard, shaking his head dolefully as he did so.

    ¡°Look,¡± said Nessa. ¡°The portal. It¡¯s calming.¡±

    Terror birds had ceased to fall from the triangular portal, which was slowly lightening and returning to normal. Even as they watched, the polyhedron shivered, jerked, and then resumed its regular spinning.

    ¡°Thank the angels,¡± sighed Vic. ¡°It¡¯s over. Time for a bath!¡±

    ¡°We need to hunt down the terror birds that got away,¡± said Sam.

    Vic winced. ¡°Do we though? Do we?¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s right,¡± sighed Nessa. ¡°Who knows how many got out?¡±

    ¡°Then what¡¯s the point of giving taxes to the Flutic government for them to pay for a city guard,¡± complained Vic, ¡°if they¡¯re not going to, you know, guard us?¡±

    ¡°Oh wait!¡± exclaimed Sam happily. ¡°I got a level!¡±

    Lady Hammerfell stood watching the Dungeon Portal for a moment longer, than released her huge sword so that it simply disappeared, and turned to sweep her gaze over the plaza.

    Her gaze fell upon their crew and alighted on Harald.

    Who felt a jolt of emotion pass through him. He¡¯d admired her before, but after this display of power? It felt an honor just to be regarded.

    Lady Hammerfell smiled and inclined her head. Raiders, members of her crew, city guards, all were converging on her, no doubt seeking orders, reassurance, or just to be close to her magnificent form.

    Mouth dry, still holding her gaze, Harald did the only thing that felt appropriate.

    He bowed low.

    When he rose, he saw that she¡¯d broken away to jog toward the main avenue, warriors hurrying to keep up.

    ¡°Come on,¡± said Harald, resolve firming. ¡°Sam¡¯s right. We¡¯re not done yet. Not while there are monsters loose in the city.¡±

 Figuring out cover styles

    Hey everyone!

    Quick question for you all, as you know this story best: which of the three cover styles above do you think would work best for Thrones of the Fallen? Which is likely to help it find the broadest audience? I''ve a sneaking suspicion I missed the mark with the current one (B), but don''t want to double down on that mistake for when the book eventually finds its way to Amazon and Audible.

    The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

    (A and C are AI-generated, and are here simply to help get a sense of which approach to take - I''d hire a real artist to do the final, actual cover.)

    Using the above as references, do you think I should go for:

    <ul>

    <li>

    A: Bright, landscapey with magical element, showing the back of our gang of friends?

    </li>

    <li>

    B: 100% attitude and demonic energy: the current cover, got a mixed set of reviews on it

    </li>

    <li>

    C: A combat scene in the more traditional PF style, showing Harald in the dungeon fighting Ashen Walkers

    </li>

    </ul>

    Thanks!

 Chapter 72

    Despite their resolve to help further they weren¡¯t able to do much. The terror birds were simply too fleet of foot, and had torn their way into the city with such speed that by the time the crew caught up the monsters had eventually been put down after killing scores.

    Flutic reeled.

    The streets were emptied, carts and carriages abandoned, selling boards dropped, fruit and vegetables having rolled into the gutters. Here and there lay a mutilated body, entrails and blood glistening. Countless faces crowded the windows and balconies. City guards ran to and fro blowing their whistles and yelling hoarse cries. Patrols of House Drakenhart raced toward distant fights, but as horrific as the bloodshed had been, the monsters were soon all put down.

    Weary, dusty, grim, Harald and his companions eventually set out for home. Their victories on the 13th Level felt distant and artificial; the goblins had been as nothing compared to the terror birds, and all of them were aware of how reliant they¡¯d been on Harald¡¯s Goldchops and the Shadow Mastiff.

    With every corpse they passed, with every group of wounded city guards they saw clustered around a slain monster, Harald¡¯s resolve only firmed further: he needed to close the gap between him and Hammerfell. He couldn¡¯t rely on the Goldchops forever, and even they were ultimately insufficient to the task.

    He wanted to be able to stand before the Dungeon Portal and cut down everything that came through. To protect the city at his back, to be the bulwark that the citizens needed to keep back the tide of monsters.

    Abyssal Initiate Level 2.

    Pitiful.

    Rancor burned in his chest over Nessa¡¯s decision to cut short their 13th Level raid. Sure, her decision had been affirmed by the Shuddering, but even so her leadership was too temperate and cautious.

    Not that he disagreed with her. It didn¡¯t make sense to push the crew till they were in over their heads and someone died. It was her job to see to it that they made it out safe, and that was all well and good.

    But he needed more.

    Wanted more.

    So, as they trudged back, late afternoon sunshine sluicing down through the wisps of cloud, he made a dark and silent resolution.

    By day he¡¯d raid with the crew.

    By night he¡¯d raid with the Goldchops.

    One for his class levels, the other for his Thrones.

    With the Goldchops and Shadow Mastiff he could go much deeper, acquire far more scales than the 3,000 or so Crescent Moons they¡¯d acquired for the crew. Which was really nothing once you deducted the 5,000 for Nessa¡¯s levels, the 3,000 for Vic, and the 5,000 for him, Sam, and K¨¢rsek.

    Those numbers, which had been academic when he was writing up the charter, a naive and good-hearted means of ensuring the crew was bound together and united in purpose, now rankled; he wanted his Third Throne, he wanted the boost of power that would give his Abilities greater longevity. Already the Aching Depths was a heavy burden upon their foes: what might it do when powered by three Thrones?

    Sam bumped his shoulder with her own. ¡°So?¡±

    ¡°Hmm?¡±

    ¡°I leveled!¡± Her eyes widened in surprise. ¡°You¡¯re not curious?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re all curious,¡± drawled Vic from behind. ¡°But were taking your silence for embarrassment. We¡¯re not ones to pry if you¡¯ve been given wretched little Abilities, darling.¡±

    ¡°One, you absolutely are the prying type,¡± said Sam, twisting about to smirk at Vic. ¡°And two? My Abilities seem¡­ almost too powerful?¡±

    ¡°Go on then,¡± smiled Nessa. ¡°Share.¡±

    ¡°Right. Well.¡± Sam snuck a glance at Harald and grinned. ¡°My Active? Celestial Flair.¡±

    Vic snorted. ¡°Please tell me its sartorially inclined?¡±

    Sam ignored him and read, ¡°Ignite the heavens with your resolve; summon forth a burst of divine radiance, blinding foes ensnared within its purity and granting yourself moment¡¯s grace.¡±

    ¡°That does sound good,¡± said Harald. ¡°Burst of divine radiance?¡±

    ¡°Area of effect,¡± said Nessa, approvingly. ¡°Blinding foes is always an excellent low-leveled power, and it being divinely sourced means it might even affect mid-level foes as well.¡±

    ¡°That ¡®moment of grace¡¯ part,¡± said K¨¢rsek, looking up at Sam. ¡°Is it but flowery language, or an actual Ability benefit?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure,¡± said Sam. ¡°I was hoping we¡¯d run into at least one terror bird so that I could try it out, but what can you do? But wait till you hear my new Passive: Guardian¡¯s Mantle.¡±

    Everyone crowded in a little closer.

    ¡°Enshroud your allies in the protective embrace of the Guardian¡¯s Mantle,¡± read Sam. ¡°This spectral shroud weaves resilience from the fabric of benevolence, lessening the sting of dark enchantments and mending the wounds of the valiant.¡±

    ¡°A healing aura?¡± asked Harald, delighted.

    ¡°And a protective one against ¡®dark enchantments¡¯,¡± said Nessa approvingly. ¡°Sam, you weren¡¯t joking about these being powerful Abilities.¡±

    ¡°How much healing?¡± Vic slung an arm over Sam¡¯s shoulder as he rubbed his chin with his free hand. ¡°Probably dependent on your number of Thrones, correct? And you with two should make for a decent rate.¡±

    ¡°It almost feels like too much,¡± protested Sam, sliding out from under Vic¡¯s arm. ¡°Beacon of Hope and Shield of Valor felt solid, but Celestial Flair and Guardian¡¯s Mantle feel¡­¡±

    Harald wanted to remind her of her Soul Rank. But it wasn¡¯t his place to do so in public. Luckily, it was Nessa who spoke up for him.

    ¡°Sam, you acquired this class on the 47th Level. I¡¯ve never even heard of a Netherwarden Knight before. It makes sense that your Abilities would be of a different caliber than what we¡¯re used to seeing.¡±

    ¡°True.¡± Sam considered, clearly wrestling with her emotions. She glanced at Harald again, and returned his smile. ¡°Well, I guess I¡¯m not complaining.¡±

    ¡°Complaining?¡± His smile became a grin. ¡°You can heal us and protect us from dark magic, while blinding our foes, sending a mobile shield around the crew, and lifting our spirits against panic and fear. Who would have thought you¡¯d be such a team player?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s an interesting mix,¡± said Nessa. ¡°The Celestial Flair is the closest she has to a direct attack. Her class is clearly meant to work as part of a team, lifting and enhancing and protecting everyone else.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not familiar with your class,¡± said K¨¢rsek hesitantly. ¡°Would you share the description?¡±

    ¡°Sure, of course,¡± smiled Sam. ¡°Sworn defenders against entities that emerge from beyond, Netherwarden Knights wield the power of light and darkness in equal measure. Their solemn oath to protect reality from the encroaching nether forces grants them abilities that are both awe-inspiring and fearsome.¡±

    ¡°A most impressive class indeed,¡± said K¨¢rsek. ¡°Most impressive!¡±

    Sam ducked her head.

    They arrived at the Darrowdelve Manor. Baldric Avenue was unusually quiet, and they entered the grounds only to split in the entrance hall, each person going to their room to freshen up. Sam said something about getting a meal going, and disappeared into the kitchen.

    Harald closed his bedroom door and rested his brow against the heavily varnished wood. It had been a full day, complete with the raid on the goblin bosses, the wounds, the victories. Then the Shuddering. That had been¡­ he blew out his cheeks. Intense. But more than that, frustrating.

    Harald clenched his eyes. He felt feverish. He saw again Lady Hammerfell leveling an entire third of the square with one sweep of her giant sword.

    Whereas he had only danced about, depending on his Goldchops to do all the work.

    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

    Goldchops that he hadn¡¯t even earned. They were a gift from his father.

    He couldn¡¯t take any credit.

    Level 2 Abyssal Initiate.

    Never had he felt so inadequate, so behind, so useless.

    Harald pushed off the door, stripping his gear and clothing as he went, and ended up before one of his windows in his small clothes, fists clenched, gazing out over the distant estate wall at the towers of Flutic.

    It had been over a month since he¡¯d begun this new quest. In three weeks he fought Yeoric. On some level, yes, he¡¯d accomplished a lot. He¡¯d more than doubled his physical stats, found himself a terrifying Servitor, acquired Artifacts, written a new charter, forged a new crew.

    All in a month.

    But it didn¡¯t feel like enough.

    What if the next Shuddering opened to Level 47, and those hollow stone golems began to pour out? What if Lady Hammerfell hadn¡¯t been on hand today? How many people had died before the last terror bird was put down?

    There wasn¡¯t enough time.

    But he had to make the most of what he had.

    Harald pulled open the window, closed the shutters, then drew the curtains. He went from window to window, repeating this procedure, until his bedroom was dark. Then he sat cross legged on the floor and closed his eyes.

    The darkness wasn¡¯t absolute, with some faint gray afternoon light filtering in around the edges of the curtain, but it was close.

    Shadow Fortitude immediately set to work, restoring his reserves, energizing him.

    Harald sat for as long as he could, distant voices alerting him that people were gathering in the kitchen, and then he rose, dressed, and descended to join them.

    The mood in the kitchen was sober. Nessa sat to one side, sipping a glass of wine, while K¨¢rsek and Sam finished serving bowls of meaty soup. Vic sat as bonelessly as ever in his chair, having donned new finery and resting with pursed lips.

    ¡°Harald.¡± Sam flashed a smile. ¡°Soup?¡±

    ¡°Sure, thanks.¡±

    He sat. The food was good. Everyone settled in and got to eating.

    Finally Sam set her spoon down. ¡°I¡¯ll be doing the accounting this afternoon. I¡¯m aiming to try and pay everyone their dungeon delve fee on the same day we return, and will be keeping public accounts in a dedicated ledger. Perhaps I should keep it here, so that anyone can examine it when they wish?¡±

    K¨¢rsek gave a firm nod when nobody else spoke up. ¡°I think that prudent, Miss Sam. The correct and proper keeping of accounts is fundamental to the long term success of any business venture.¡±

    Sam smiled gratefully at him, then peered at Harald. ¡°You all right?¡±

    ¡°Me?¡± He forced a smile. ¡°Why wouldn¡¯t I be?¡±

    Vic snorted.

    ¡°Perhaps because you¡¯re brooding and looking upset?¡± asked Sam.

    ¡°Then perhaps I am. Upset, that is.¡± Harald glanced around the table. ¡°Did nobody else feel next to useless during that Shuddering? What would have happened if Lady Hammerfell hadn¡¯t been close?¡±

    Vic¡¯s smile was cruel. ¡°How graphic a description do you desire?¡±

    ¡°My point is that we need to do more. I need to do more.¡±

    ¡°Harald,¡± drawled Nessa, swirling her wine within her glass. ¡°I appreciate extremism as much as the next lady, but this is a marathon, not a sprint.¡±

    Harald grimaced and bit back his retort.  He was feeling wild, would no doubt sound crazy if he voiced his desires. They were all watching him with a new sense of caution. So he inhaled deeply, held his breath, then forced a smile. ¡°Apologies. I¡¯m just stirred up.¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± said Sam, reaching out to put her hand over his own. ¡°We all are. Shudderings are terrifying. But there¡¯s only so much we can do till we get stronger. And we¡¯re working on it.¡±

    ¡°We are indeed,¡± agreed Vic. ¡°Both Nessa and Sam leveled up today. Remarkable. I¡¯d suggest a celebration had the Shuddering not so thoroughly ruined the mood.¡±

    Nessa raised her glass in acknowledgment.

    Sam reached over to the counter and pulled over a stack of letters. ¡°And we¡¯ve other matters to contend with, it seems. This one¡¯s from House Celestara.¡±

    Harald rolled his eyes.

    Sam opened it, scanned the contents, then held it out for whomever wanted to take a look. ¡°I think Lady Celestis is getting a little impatient.¡±

    ¡°To be fair,¡± said Vic, ¡°it has been almost two weeks.¡±

    Had it? Harald frowned. Nessa had disappeared for three days after that dinner, then they¡¯d trained at fighting with shields in formation for a week, followed by today¡¯s delve¡­ ¡°You¡¯re right. What happens if we don¡¯t respond?¡±

    ¡°At all?¡± Vic raised an eyebrow. ¡°Lady Celestis will grow offended and send Lady Yseult knocking. Which would be very awkward, as she¡¯d no doubt demand an answer. You would then blurt out that you decline, Lady Yseult would make veiled threats, and we¡¯d have made an enemy of House Celestis.¡±

    ¡°Great.¡± Harald raked his fingers through his hair. ¡°So what¡¯s the best move?¡±

    Nessa sipped her wine. ¡°An insulting response, obviously. I can help draft it.¡±

    Vic¡¯s smile was pained. ¡°Lovely. Or perhaps you could make a final decision on joining Countess Sonora¡¯s House? Refusing Lady Celestis would be a much safer proposition of you had House Drakenhart to hide behind.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t,¡± said Harald. ¡°That would provoke House Thornvale to make good on their threat to reveal Vorakhar¡¯s influence.¡±

    ¡°Ah,¡± said Vic, inclining his head as he glanced meaningfully at K¨¢rsek. ¡°You¡¯re right. Then perhaps the next step is to seek a word with your patron?¡±

    The young dwarf was adept at reading the room; he muttered a polite excuse, stood, and walked out the back into the garden.

    ¡°Such a polite young dwarf,¡± said Vic admiringly. ¡°Such tact, such bold humility. I do declare, we should hire a dozen more. They could carry me about the dungeon on a palanquin.¡±

    Sam snorted despite herself.

    ¡°I do need to speak with Vorakhar,¡± said Harald. ¡°I need to neutralize Thornvale, then petition Countness Sonora for her patronage, then refuse House Celestara before they become too upset at my prolonged silence.¡±

    ¡°Then allow me to pen an artful apology,¡± suggested Vic. ¡°I¡¯ll buy us some time without saying anything.¡±

    Harald nodded grimly.

    ¡°And¡­¡± Sam held up another luxurious envelop. ¡°A third letter from Lord Jin of House Silvershield.¡±

    ¡°Awkward,¡± said Nessa with a dark smile.

    Sam opened it. ¡°He¡¯s¡­ very polite for someone who is clearly growing annoyed.¡±

    ¡°You never replied to him, did you Harald?¡± asked Vic.

    Harald shook his head.

    Sam handed the letter to Vic. ¡°Lord Jin had a private note inserted into Master Ling¡¯s paperwork after the auction, and then wrote a formal letter¡­ was it ten days ago?¡±

    ¡°The man spent a bunch of scales on my estate sale,¡± said Harald. ¡°Does that give him a claim on my time or attention?¡±

    ¡°Not his auction activities, no,¡± allowed Vic, throwing the letter down. ¡°But his being a Gold-ranked raider of House Silvershield does. Unless you¡¯re trying to actively antagonize two of the most powerful Houses in Flutic at once?¡±

    Harald rose impatiently to his feet. ¡°I¡¯m not trying to antagonize anyone.¡± He set to pacing. ¡°I just want to be left alone to train. But, barring, that, fine. Vic, can you write Lord Jin an apology, and promise him¡­ what? I don¡¯t want to go to dinner at his house and have him fish for my loyalty.¡±

    ¡°Hmm.¡± Vic tapped his lips. ¡°We could mail him a bucket of swine shit. That¡¯ll convey your feelings quite accurately.¡±

    Nessa snorted.

    ¡°Barring that, too,¡± sighed Harald.

    ¡°Fine. I¡¯ll send him an apology as well, and say that you are¡­ currently indisposed due to¡­¡± Vic paused to consider. ¡°Intestinal distress? No. I¡¯ll think on it.¡±

    ¡°Thank you.¡±

    ¡°You should rest,¡± said Sam, tone concerned. ¡°We fought twice today, Harald. We¡¯re not wasting our time.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t say we were.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re clearly thinking it.¡± Sam¡¯s tone was inexorable. ¡°We fought two pitched battles against the goblins, then resisted a Shuddering. Isn¡¯t that enough for today?¡±

    Harald grimaced as he forced himself to meet her eyes.

    She was watching him carefully, her concern obvious.

    ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± he lied. ¡°It¡¯s enough for today.¡±

    *

    The manor was quiet. Vic and Sam had departed for the evening. Nessa had disappeared into her room with a bottle of wine and a book, while K¨¢rsek was in the garden shed, repairing tools and just keeping himself busy.

    Harald lay atop his sheets, fully clothed, waiting.

    He couldn¡¯t have slept if his life depended on it.

    Class training during the day, Throne training at night.

    Finally the Eleventh Bell rang. Harald counted the peals, then rose swiftly and set to donning the gear he¡¯d cleaned during the evening. He buckled his sword, hefted his pack, and patted his pouch with what little scales remained him.

    He listened at the door.

    Silence.

    So he cracked it open, padded past Nessa¡¯s dark door, then descended the staircase to the entrance hall.

    Nessa sat by the front door, one ankle crossed over the other knee, a book open in her lap.

    Harald froze.

    She glanced up at him in dark amusement. ¡°Evening, Harald.¡±

    He straightened. ¡°Nessa.¡±

    ¡°A little bird told me you might try this.¡±

    He descended the last steps and stopped before her. ¡°Do you mean to stop me?¡±

    ¡°No.¡± She gestured at the door. ¡°This is your house, and honestly, I¡¯m probably the last person here who should pretend at virtue. If you want to go raiding by yourself, well. You¡¯re a full-grown man, aren¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°I am.¡± He watched her suspiciously. ¡°Then why wait up?¡±

    ¡°Just so that I could impart some words of wisdom.¡± Her smile was mocking. ¡°Seeing as I¡¯m a level 5 Bladeweaver, and all. And your Delve Captain.¡±

    Harald moved to the door. ¡°Thank you, but maybe next time.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll be quick. Please?¡±

    Harald closed his hand on the handle, then bowed his head. All he had to do was yank it open and he could be off down the driveway. But there was something in her voice. Something complex that he couldn¡¯t quite understand. So he grimaced then glanced sidelong at her.

    ¡°I know what you¡¯re feeling,¡± she said, not rising from her chair. ¡°That need. It¡¯s an addiction. No amount is ever enough. If you really go hog-wild, then perhaps it might satiate you for a few days, leaving you wrecked and ruined, but before long that need comes creeping back in, doesn¡¯t it? I saw the way you looked at me when I called the raid over on the 13th this morning. You¡¯ve given me a fairly wide range of looks over the years, but never one like that. Never one so close to hate.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t hate you.¡±

    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m all too aware. But in that moment it wasn¡¯t even me that you were mad it. It was whatever was getting between you and your need.¡±

    ¡°You make it sound like I¡¯m addicted to glory.¡±

    Her smile was cold. ¡°So you picked up on the parallel I was going for. Yes. That is what I¡¯m calling it. An addiction.¡±

    Anger arose within him. ¡°If needing to be strong to save others is an addiction, then fine, I¡¯m an addict.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t be so melodramatic.¡± She leaned back, closing the book and setting it on the floor beside her. ¡°Come on, Harald. I¡¯m a fellow addict. I hear that siren call nightly. I know the pull, the rationalizations, the hunger. You say you want to help people, but what you really want is power. You want the thrill of becoming more capable. You want to reach deeper levels, you want more powerful Artifacts and Servitors, you want fame, the reputation, the ability to do what you want. Don¡¯t you?¡±

    Her eyes glittered as she studied him.

    Harald¡¯s mouth was dry.

    He tried to recall his words to his mother. Though of Vorakhar¡¯s grin. Thought of his Soul Gift, Insatiable Void.

    ¡°No,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯m not like you. You use glory to hurt yourself so that nobody else can. You want to believe that we¡¯re the same so that you¡¯ll feel better about your weakness, but I only want power to help others. We are not the same.¡±

    The glittering light in Nessa¡¯s eyes died as her face paled.

    Harald¡¯s heart was pounding, his gut taut, his mind blank as he stared at her. He wanted to take back his words, to apologize, to contextualize them, but he couldn¡¯t.

    Nessa stood, her movements jerky. ¡°I see.¡±

    ¡°I appreciate your waiting up for me. But it¡¯s not necessary. I¡¯ll be back before dawn.¡± And before he could make thing worse, Harald pulled open the front door, and stepped into the night.

 Chapter 73

    Ustim descended from his carriage with care. He was advancing in years, after all, and not only did slow, careful movements befit his station and age, but it wouldn¡¯t do to trip on his robe and tumble into the street before such an important meeting.

    Yeoric closed the carriage door after him, broad, handsome face inscrutable. Ustim patted Yeoric¡¯s arm in just the right patronizing manner that he knew the warrior detested, then smoothed down his robe as he gazed at the large manor house before him: Lord Jin¡¯s prime residency.

    A servant had already emerged to await him on the landing before the large front doors. The man¡¯s expression was serene, polite, disinterested. It was not to be wondered at; Ustim knew himself to be a man of little political station. It was daring for him to present himself uninvited at such a powerful lord¡¯s home, but this was how the great game was played: caution until it was time for boldness.

    Ustim climbed the steps, Yeoric a step behind him, and inclined his head to the servant. ¡°Greetings. I am Ustim Flowervault, an undersecretary from the Flutic Mining Consortium. I have a matter to discuss with the esteemed Lord Jin that I am confident will be of interest.¡±

    The servant discretely looked Ustim up and down. The man would find no fault with his robes; Ustim had a secret passion for couture and the language the nobility spoke through cloth and sash, fabric and cut. The trick was to not dress above one¡¯s station, even if one could afford to do so, but rather to present what one was with such confidence that others, even one¡¯s betters, couldn¡¯t help but take note.

    ¡°Be welcome at Lord Jin¡¯s home, Mr. Flowervault,¡± said the servant, tone polite but noncommittal. ¡°Please, follow me.¡±

    Could it be so easy? No. Ustim maintained a placid smile as he entered the manor, and nodded graciously as he and Yeoric were shown to the first parlor on the right-hand side. It was aggressively elegant, if understated; Lord Jin had a reputation for sophistication that the furniture and decorations here exemplified.

    ¡°If you will await here for but a moment,¡± said the servant, closing the door behind him as he left.

    ¡°Well, that was easy enough,¡± said Yeoric, looking around the room and clearly not appreciating what he saw.

    ¡°Don¡¯t be a fool,¡± murmured Ustim, moving to a wall hanging of breathtaking beauty. ¡°We¡¯re still far from the peak of this mountain.¡±

    They were forced to wait half a bell, an insultingly long period of time, but Ustim had expected nothing less. He finally took a seat and waited with a genial smile, eyes closed, hands folded in his lap. Yeoric ended up before the window so as to watch the gardeners at work.

    When the door finally opened, it was another servant, an older man with iron gray hair and severe, elegant robes of blue.

    Ustim rose graciously to his feet.

    ¡°Mr. Flowervault,¡± said the stranger, moving forward to execute a shallow bow. ¡°I am Kim Ling, Lord Jin¡¯s advisor. He is currently pre-occupied with other matters, and sends his regrets for not being able to attend you in person. Perhaps I can be of assistance?¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± said Ustim smoothly. He wanted to compliment the advisor on the cut of his robe; it was a fashionable revisiting of a classical style, but doing so would only appear like base flattery. ¡°A matter has come to my attention that I thought would interest Lord Jin. I had the honor of seeing the lord at the Platinum Rose Auction house a few weeks ago, and noted his avid interest in a certain Harald Darrowdelve¡¯s assets; he was, of course, one amongst many interested in making bids, but I thought his discernment in what he bid on remarkable.¡±

    Kim Ling raised an eyebrow, otherwise betraying nothing.

    ¡°But far be it from me to offer judgment on Lord Jin¡¯s discernment,¡± continued Ustim. ¡°I have, however, business of my own with Sir Darrowdelve. Business that I thought Lord Jin might be interested in learning more about, seeing as it will quite likely, though regretfully, result in Sir Darrowdelve¡¯s death.¡±

    Kim Ling¡¯s expression betrayed nothing. No wonder Lord Jin had assigned him such an important role. ¡°I am afraid I don¡¯t understand. What manner of business so imperils Sir Darrowdelve?¡±

    ¡°He forged a raiding association with Yeoric Bronzel here, a raider who sought to aid him while Sir Darrowdelve was finding his footing. However, the relationship turned sour, and Sir Darrowdelve not only insulted Yeoric¡¯s integrity, but then demanded a duel to resolve matters. A duel that is taking place in¡­¡± Ustim turned to Yeoric, as if momentarily forgetting. ¡°Three weeks¡¯ time?¡±

    Yeoric inclined his head.

    ¡°Regardless. It is a petty affair, but Yeoric¡¯s honor demands redress for these insults. I have overseen the contracts and charters for Yeoric¡¯s raiding crew, and while amending the charter to reflect the terms of the upcoming duel, recalled Lord Jin¡¯s interest in Sir Darrowdelve¡¯s estate. Out of an overabundance of caution, I thought it wise to alert Lord Jin of the appending duel; if there is any possibility that Lord Jin were interested in such an affair, than it was obviously incumbent of me to inform him.¡±

    Kim Ling inclined his head. ¡°Your overabundance of caution is appreciated, Mr. Flowervault. If you will wait a moment longer? I will have refreshments brought.¡±

    ¡°But of course,¡± smiled Ustim, keeping his manner polite and humble. On no account could he betray his pleasure.

    The advisor bowed again and departed.

    ¡°That went well?¡± asked Yeoric, clearly unsure.

    ¡°Oh yes.¡± Ustim sat again, placid as he sensed matters proceeding as they should. ¡°Kim Ling is Lord Jin¡¯s advisor, perhaps his principle confidant. That means he¡¯s well aware of Lord Jin¡¯s anger.¡±

    ¡°Why would Lord Jin be angry?¡± asked Yeoric, brows lowering.

    ¡°Because Harald has been ignoring his overtures. It has been three weeks since Lord Jin honored him by spending far more scales on his belongings than he needed to; this overture was followed by several letters politely inviting Harald to come visit, letters Harald has ignored.¡±

    Yeoric moved to sit beside Ustim. ¡°And you know this how?¡±

    Ustim¡¯s smile was cold. ¡°Oh Yeoric. It is a simple thing to bribe the courier who services Baldric Avenue and both delivers and collects letters and missives. I¡¯ve kept careful tabs on how many times Lord Jin has written to Darrowdelve Manor, and only yesterday did Harald bother to respond. A letter which, unfortunately, was intercepted, and will never reach its intended destination.¡±

    Yeoric grinned. ¡°You canny old goat.¡±

    Ustim narrowed his eyes.

    Yeoric immediately coughed into his fist. ¡°I mean, well done, sir.¡±

    ¡°Quite.¡±

    Refreshments were served, consisting of green tea and small spongy biscuits. The Eleventh Bell rang, and shortly thereafter Kim Ling appeared once more. ¡°If you will follow me, Mr. Flowervault?¡±

    Ustim arose, bowed, and then followed the advisor deeper into the manor. They rose to the first floor, and there paused before a beautifully carved door inlaid with walnut panels. Kim Ling knocked politely, opened the door, and bowed exceptionally low. ¡°Lord Jin, I have brought Mr. Flowervault as requested.¡±

    And with that, the advisor stepped aside.

    Ustim stepped into the doorway and bowed even lower. He vaguely sensed Yeoric doing the same behind him, and when he straightened, he had to control himself from gaping at the wealth and wonders on display.

    The study was filled with glass cabinets, and on each shelf lay a treasure. He caught sight of gorgeous tapestries, silk wall hangings, but he restrained himself from examining them; instead he focused on Lord Jin, who remained seated behind his expansive desk.

    Of course the lord didn¡¯t rise. There was no need to honor one such as Ustim.

    ¡°Mr. Flowervault,¡± said Lord Jin, his voice serene and cultured. ¡°Be welcome in my home. Please, take a seat.¡±

    Ustim moved to one of the chairs arranged before the desk and sat lightly upon the edge of one. ¡°Lord Jin, you do me great honor in allowing me this audience. Truly, your magnanimity and generosity are fairly lauded in the city.¡±

    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    Lord Jin bowed his head. He was handsome, perilously so in the manner of all who had absorbed plentiful scales from the Fallen Angel. He wore a doublet of midnight blue tailored to perfection and embroidered with understated silver patterns. His hair was impeccable, styled away from his face so as to reveal his striking features, his strong jawline, his eyes that commanded attention with depth and intelligence. Such was his presence that merely resting behind his desk he still exuded power and authority, causing Ustim¡¯s mouth to dry and his throat to tighten.

    Lord Jin inclined his head, acknowledging Ustim¡¯s praise. ¡°My advisor tells me you have business with Harald Darrowdelve. Why do you think I would be interested?¡±

    ¡°As I mentioned to Mr. Ling, I noted your generosity on full display at the Platinum Rose estate auction. Not daring to guess its cause, I thought it best to inform you of this upcoming duel. Mr. Bronzel¡¯s dispute with Sir Darrowdelve is of no account if it in anyway displeases your lordship.¡±

    ¡°I see.¡± Lord Jin betrayed nothing. ¡°Please explain the cause of this dispute.¡±

    ¡°Harald approached Yeoric a couple of months ago with an offer: he would finance the outfitting of a crew and pay for a dungeon writ in exchange for a percentage of the crew¡¯s gains from their raids. Yeoric found the arrangement acceptable, and took pity on Harald, for the boy was then without recourse due to his immense personal debts. However, upon completing their first successful raid, Yeoric visited Harald to pay the agreed upon percentage; Harald grew greedy, and demanded the charter be rewritten. When Yeoric protested that this was unfair, Harald all but struck him in a fit of petulant rage, and demanded the full expenses of his outfitting the crew be reimbursed twice over. Yeoric sought to reason with the man, but Harald proved arrogant in the extreme, and instead challenged him to a duel. Said duel is due to take place three weeks from now.¡±

    ¡°I see,¡± said Lord Jin. ¡°How do you square this dependency on Yeoric with Harald¡¯s own astonishing rise in power?¡±

    ¡°I had the great fortune of being a close friend of Harald¡¯s father. He entrusted me with all his personal matters, including that he had hidden a great trove of treasure in his home. It is my belief that Harald, in the process of stripping the manor house of all valuables for his estate sale, found this treasure horde, and absorbed it all, opening who knows how many Thrones in the process. He has since surrounded himself with sell swords of ill repute, and begun delving the dungeon.¡±

    ¡°Hmm.¡± Lord Jin glanced past Ustim at where Kim Ling no doubt stood, then rubbed at this clean shaven shin.

    ¡°Yeoric approached me for advice,¡± continued Ustim, ¡°at first because he thought the duel unfair to Harald; Yeoric is a Level 3 Iron Vanguard, while at the time Harald had no class at all. I advised he give Harald time to come to his senses, but now it seems, due to having found his father¡¯s treasure, Harald insists upon the duel. If you wish it, however, Lord Jin, we would cancel the duel in a moment out of respect for your deep friendship with Harald Darrowdelve, and the no doubt burgeoning relationship between your households.¡±

    Lord Jin studied him.

    Ustim forced a genial smile. Had he played his hand too strongly? It shouldn¡¯t matter.

    ¡°I thank you for bringing this matter to my attention. I have indeed been paying close attention to Sir Darrowdelve¡¯s remarkable ascent in power, for it is of interest to House Silvershield.¡±

    ¡°Oh, that makes sense,¡± agreed Ustim affably. ¡°And no wonder! Though Harald was seen dining at Lady Celestis¡¯ manor only a week ago, I¡¯m sure he is honored beyond measure by your illustrious House¡¯s interest. Shall I call off the duel, then, in light of his imminent acceptance of your patronage?¡±

    Lord Jin¡¯s eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

    Ustim maintained his blithe smile.

    ¡°He dined with Melisende Celestis a week ago?¡±

    ¡°Oh, I suppose it would be two weeks, now. It was the very next evening after the auction.¡±

    ¡°I see.¡± Lord Jin stroked his chin again. ¡°Interesting. I wasn¡¯t aware.¡±

    The silence drew out.

    Thank the angels Yeoric was smart enough to remain silent.

    ¡°Unfortunately, you are mistaken as to my relationship with Harald Darrowdelve,¡± said Lord Jin, and Ustim crushed a thrill of excitement. ¡°We have never spoken, and it is to my dismay that Harald has not seen fit to respond to my letters. I fear I may have been mistaken as to the nature of his character; your own tale sadly affirms my worst suspicions.¡±

    Ustim bowed his head. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry to hear that.¡±

    ¡°Are you, now?¡± Lord Jin¡¯s amusement was cold. ¡°But how fortuitous that you¡¯ve brought Mr. Bronzel with you. You are a Level 3 Iron Vanguard?¡±

    ¡°I am, my lord.¡±

    Lord Jin tapped his fingers on the desk. ¡°I have it on good authority that Harald has already Ascended to his Second Throne. And yourself?¡±

    Yeoric¡¯s face remained impassive even as his cheeks flushed. ¡°Just the one, my lord.¡±

    ¡°Hmm.¡± Again Lord Jin glanced past Ustim at where Kim Ling stood by the door. ¡°It is an unusual request, but perhaps you would humor me, Mr. Bronzel? I would see for myself what you are capable of.¡±

    Ah, sweet, sweet victory.

    Yeoric sat up straighter. ¡°It would be the honor of a lifetime, your lordship. But, ah, I obviously wouldn¡¯t be able to, well -¡±

    Lord Jin raised a hand, cutting him off. ¡°I understand. Shall we?¡±

    They arose. Ustim had expected Lord Jin to excuse himself to change out of his peerlessly expensive robes, but instead the lord led them all downstairs and to the back of the house. Where most manors might feature a ballroom, this one had a great sparring circle laid out on white marble. A rope as thick as Yeoric¡¯s beefy wrist was half-embedded in a perfect circle upon the stone, and great windows of astonishing height allowed the overcast morning light to flood the space. Huge clay vases ringed the walls, ferns adding lush greenness to the otherwise austere setting, and one wall was wholly given over to a weapon rack upon which some hundred weapons of every description and size were affixed.

    ¡°Impress the man,¡± whispered Ustim as Lord Jin strode pensively out into the center of the circle. Yeoric was pale, his jaw clenched. ¡°I know you are as nothing compared to him, but he¡¯s intent on measuring your fighting spirit, not your ability to land a blow.¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± muttered Yeoric. ¡°Right.¡±

    ¡°Savage dedication. Manifest your killing instinct. If you impress him sufficiently, you may earn an invitation to House Silvershield and Lord Jin¡¯s personal retinue,¡± continued Ustim, though he didn¡¯t believe it. ¡°Give this your absolute all, Yeoric!¡±

    Yeoric nodded fiercely, stepped up to the great rope boundary, and then bowed low before stepping into the circle. The sparring circle was easily some forty yards wide, the marble surface chipped and gauged by past battles, though all had been swept clean and polished.

    ¡°Do not fear for my safety,¡± said Lord Jin as Yeoric approached him warily. ¡°Attack me with everything you have. Collect any weapons or armor that you need.¡±

    Yeoric stepped over to the weapons rack and drew down a tower shield and a broadsword. These he examined briefly, but obviously they were of peerless quality; Ustim hoped Lord Jin didn¡¯t take insult from this gaffe.

    Lord Jin, for his part, remained in the center of the circle, hands linked behind his back, expression distant and pensive.

    No doubt playing over what Ustim had revealed to him. Little seeds that would only bloom into dark blossoms in due time.

    Yeoric settled himself before Lord Jin, tower shield raised, broadsword at the ready. The man was clearly an experienced warrior; Ustim knew little of the martial arts, but Yeoric looked competent enough, his physicality impressive, his stance impressive.

    But though Lord Jin remained still, the Gold-ranked raider made Yeoric look like a child aping his betters.

    The sparring circle was completely silent. Yeoric was breathing heavily, laboring already in Lord Jin¡¯s presence.

    Then, abruptly, the Copper-ranked warrior exploded forward. He burst forward, faster than Ustim could follow, and swung his blade in a great arc down upon the elegantly dressed lord.

    A concussive boom sounded as the blow crashed through the air in which Lord Jin had stood, a peal of thunder so violent that Ustim startled and stepped back.

    But Lord Jin had somehow relocated himself a dozen yards behind Yeoric, hands still linked behind his back.

    Yeoric spun and approached again, eyes barely visible over the rim of his tower shield. Again, he burst forward at the last moment, blurring as he rushed in and swung his blade.

    This time, however, Lord Jin raised a slender silver blade to parry the large broadsword. It looked, for a second, impossible; Yeoric was layered with muscle, the great arc of his swing massive, the blade itself broad and long and fearsome, whereas Lord Jin raised his slender sword with one arm, his movement languorous, indifferent.

    The great peal of thunder sounded again, blowing Lord Jin¡¯s hair back and ruffling his robes, but otherwise not affecting him.

    But his parry stopped Yeoric¡¯s blade cold.

    Yeoric grimaced and set to striking at the lord, swinging his blade again and again from different angles, shield always raised, thrusting and chopping and hewing.

    Lord Jin casually parried every blow, never needing to even step or change his stance.

    Sweat was streaming down Yeoric¡¯s face. There was some terrible force behind the parries, for Yeoric¡¯s attacks were rapidly losing speed.

    Then, without warning, Lord Jin tapped Yeoric¡¯s tower shield in its center with his silver sword.

    Yeoric¡¯s eyes widened as he hunched behind the shield, his whole stance one of resistance, but the force of the blow was such that he slid back some seven yards, boots losing all traction on the marble, and then finally tripped and fell sprawling onto his back.

    For a moment Yeoric lay there, blinking and gasping, and then, with a great effort, he rolled over and stood.

    ¡°Enough,¡± said Lord Jin, his silver blade disappearing.

    Yeoric, gasping for breath, bowed low. ¡°Thank you, my lord. I¡­ I am honored to¡­¡±

    ¡°You did well. One Throne? Level 3 Iron Vanguard? I would not have expected you to be able to rise so soon after my blow.¡±

    ¡°I¡­ I benefit from Set in Stone and Shrug It Off.¡± Yeoric forced himself to straighten. ¡°It allows me to¡­ to recover from strong blows.¡±

    Lord Jin¡¯s smile was cruel. ¡°That was not a strong blow. But still. Not bad. You will do.¡±

    ¡°Do, my lord?¡±

    Lord Jin dismissed him and turned to smile at Ustim. ¡°Let us return to my study. I would discuss terms.¡±

    ¡°Of course, my lord,¡± said Ustim, bowing as low as he could.

    Lord Jin and his advisor led the way out of the sparring circle. Yeoric rushed to hang up the weapons, then jogged over, looking bewildered. ¡°Terms?¡±

    ¡°For your advancement.¡± Ustim fought not to preen. ¡°You have been found worthy of his investment.¡±

    Yeoric brightened, a tentative smile crossing his face.

    ¡°As a means of his vengeance,¡± continued Ustim. ¡°Lord Jin will wield you as a weapon against Harald and House Celestis. He will see to it that you are more than capable of utterly crushing Harald when the duel comes.¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± said Yeoric, blinking. ¡°But¡­ he¡¯s not part of House Celestis. Is he?¡±

    ¡°Of course not.¡± Ustim¡¯s voice was little more than a whisper as he set began walking. ¡°But Lord Jin may make what assumptions he desires. And as long as you are capable of killing Harald, then I, as the overseer of his estate, will be able to dispense of his belongings as I see fit.¡±

    Yeoric frowned at him as they drew close to the door. ¡°You¡¯re the overseer of his estate?¡±

    Ustim¡¯s smile was sublime. ¡°I will be. And with Harald dead, who will contest the will I shall draft for him? You do your part, Yeoric, and you, too, will be richly compensated.¡±

    The warrior frowned as he considered, but then smiled wolfishly. ¡°I like that sound of that.¡±

    ¡°Of course you do,¡± said Ustim, raising his chin and assuming a humble, genial expression. ¡°Of course you do.¡±

 Chapter 74

    The Dungeon Plaza was a mess. Terror bird corpses were being scraped off the cobblestones from where Lady Hammerfell had smashed them to paste, while those who¡¯d survived in a more bodily fashion were being piled up like cordwood. House Drakenhart raiders were in evidence, working alongside the city guard, and numerous city officials stood about in small groups, clearly discussing the situation even at this late hour.

    Harald moved to lean against the closest building and study the situation. The Dungeon Portal hovered as always in place, revolving and blurring as if nothing untoward had happened that morning. The platforms before it had been left mostly undamaged, and the scale-lanterns showed guards in evidence.

    Where they open, though?

    Harald smiled bitterly. That would be funny. His confronting Nessa in such manner only to slink home a bell later due to the gates being closed.

    The Humble Petitioner¡¯s line was completely empty. Not too surprising. Nor was anybody lined up before the Copper Gate.

    Which meant either people thought it in poor taste to go delving so soon after a Shuddering, were superstitious about the dungeon being exceptionally dangerous right now, or¡­ the Gates were closed.

    One way to find out.

    Harald pushed off the wall and made his way through the sparse crowd, avoiding the knots of activity and blocking out the coppery tang of so much spilt blood.

    Though he drew some curious glances, nobody called out to him.

    Soon enough he stepped up to the Copper Gate. Susie the guard stood talking darkly with another guard, her arms crossed over her iron cuirass. At Harald¡¯s approach, she glanced his way dismissively, then realized who it was and turned to face him.

    ¡°You serious?¡± Her expression was one of disbelief. ¡°Tonight?¡±

    ¡°No moment like the present.¡±

    She was all but glowering. ¡°There was a Shuddering here today.¡±

    ¡°I know. I was right here. Helped fight till Lady Hammerfell showed up and did all the work.¡±

    Susie studied him, her expression softening. ¡°All the work.¡±

    ¡°I just want in. No fuss, no bother. That possible?¡±

    Susie sighed, glanced at her companion who shrugged, then nodded. ¡°Nobody¡¯s told us to close it down. So I suppose. Honestly though, Harald. Was it Harald? Tonight doesn¡¯t feel like a good time to go below.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll take my chances.¡±

    ¡°On your head be it. You know the drill. Go on through.¡±

    ¡°Thanks.¡± He proceeded to the accounting desk, made his declarations, then climbed to the platform and gazed up at the Portal.

    Never had it seemed so alien, so dangerous, as it did tonight. Had he begun to grow complacent as to its nature, its function? Seeing it disgorge so many monsters that afternoon had dispelled all familiarity.

    This wasn¡¯t a fixture, a piece of furniture, or merely a reliable means of travel. This was part of the Fallen Angel in some bizarre and incalculable manner. And perhaps, one day, the agent of Flutic¡¯s destruction.

    ¡°All right,¡± called the guard. ¡°You got a level chosen?¡±

    He¡¯d thought about this all evening while laying in his room. The first eleven floors were out. There was no appeal nor profit in killing Crypt Keepers or Gloomies. He¡¯d toyed with returning to the 27th where he¡¯d make the most profit, stalking scarecrows over the course of the night.

    But in the end his dark mood had convinced him that only one option would truly prove cathartic.

    ¡°Twelfth,¡± he said, raising a handful of scales.

    ¡°You know the drill,¡± was all the guard said as he stepped back.

    Harald thumbed his scale-lantern to life and watched as the polyhedron rotated around to present him with the twelfth pentagon, the golden notches gleaming in the light. The face hollowed out, and without hesitation Harald stepped up and rose into the air, striding into that carnivorous maw.

    A moment later he passed through the void and emerged onto the 12th Level. The huge chalky white tunnel extended before him, illuminated as before by sources of pale light hidden just out of view.

    Harald extended his hand and summoned the Dawnblade. It manifested smoothly, its weight now familiar in his palm.

    He set off at a jog. For awhile he¡¯d toyed with testing the 12th. Seeing how far he could penetrate, how many golems he could kill. But that had felt like an anemic challenge, an academic exercise in determining how far his own skills could take him.

    Another night.

    He stayed close to the portal, taking every left turn as it presented itself. A single golem shuffled into view, four feet tall and leaning most of its weight on its mighty arms. It raised its face as Harald ran at it, mouth opening to yell its warning, but Harald clove its head clear off with one brutal swing.

    The golem collapsed into rubble, and he snatched the handful of Copper Moons from the air.

    Another two turns and he found his goal: a well rising from the center of a high ceilinged room, innocuous and still.

    ¡°There we go,¡± whispered Harald, striding up to its stony rim. He unshouldered the new kite shield he¡¯d taken from the house, checked the harness about his neck and shoulder so that he didn¡¯t have to carry the full weight, then rolled his shoulders, took a deep breath, and swung his legs over the swirling black void.

    A moment later he dropped, and the diffuse brightness of the 12th was replaced by the cancerous brown haze of the 13th.

    Harald dropped into a crouch, shield at the ready. He¡¯d fallen into a large square of uneven flagstones, a ragged hole in its center dropping to the swirling mists below. A hang-man¡¯s tree loomed up to one side, black boughed and leafless. Columns. The cobbled bridges extending from square to square, plaza to plaza. The way that the level seemed to extend out to infinity in all directions, a wasteland of ruination circumscribed by the dismal miasma.

    Harald remained still.

    In the periphery he could sense movement.

    Goblins rousing themselves from whatever stupor they existed in between visitors. They oriented on him, eyes narrowing in surprise and then widening in pleasure.

    Only a handful were in view, mostly hidden behind retaining walls or standing behind columns, but Harald felt their delight at seeing a lost little lamb wander into their midst all alone.

    A deep and dark pleasure suffused him. A murderous, smoldering joy.

    The complexities of the world above, the politics and backstabbing, the expectations and hurt feelings, the money matters and feudal loyalties¡ªnone of that mattered down here.

    Here, all was simple.

    Here you killed or were killed.

    Harald remained crouched, shield raised before him, practically sensing the javelins being drawn back, the goblins glancing at each other as they coordinated their strike.

    In the stillness he could hear chirped cries from below, other goblins alerting their fellows that there was good sport to be had above.

    Harald smiled, and could restrain himself no longer.

    He summoned the Goldchops.

    The Masterwork twin golden hatchets appeared beside him and he immediately sent them forth as he threw himself into a dive.

    Hard cobbles slammed into his shoulder than rolled down the oblique line to his other hip as he came up into a crouch, javelins flying in behind him. With a flexion of his will he summoned the Aching Depths, bringing the glory of the abyss into the 13th, and the light dimmed, the temperature dropped, and the pressure of the depths fell upon the goblins even as they realized how badly they¡¯d fucked up.

    Harald didn¡¯t stop moving. He came up into a run, knowing the Goldchops would keep pace, and summoned the Shadow Mastiff.

    It appeared off to one side, black mist boiling off its hide, massive and hirsute, its form too lethal for this level, its predatory intent vicious, near palpable.

    The Mastiff glanced questioningly at Harald.

    ¡°Kill,¡± Harald whispered, and the Mastiff threw back its head to bay its horrific howl, its joy at such a clear directive almost beautiful.

    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

    The Mastiff ran to the closest edge of the plaza, shadows writhing and wreathing its form as it leaped, and a moment later it dropped out of sight to fall into the mists below.

    The goblin screams of horror and panic began almost at once.

    Harald grinned and ran, fleet of foot, ducking as a javelin thwipped just over his head. The Goldchops were speeding around his periphery, never still, never content, always seeking out their next victims. The goblins who sought cover between them and Harald were helpless against the spinning hatchets that came at them from the side. Their shrieks and cries filled the air as the Goldchops slammed through their heads, ruptured their chests, severed limbs, and painted an ongoing orgy of blood around Harald as he ran.

    Dark Vigor.

    Black fire burst across his frame as the abyss blessed him with even greater physical puissance. His body immediately felt denser, lighter, more lethal in every way.

    But there was no gain in chasing goblins up hear on the walkways and plazas. No profit in chasing them endlessly across the ruins.

    So Harald veered to the side, leaped over the stone edging of his bridge, and dropped into the mists.

    The drop might once have broken his legs.

    But now he simply fell into a deep crouch, one knee touching the earthen floor, shield raised, Dawnblade stretched out behind him as he gazed into the thick mists.

    The Mastiff bayed again off to one side, the power of its roar causing the mist to shudder.

    The Goldchops obliged their master by dropping into the miasma of the ground floor and continuing their bloody work there.

    Harald had to keep moving. No matter how invincible he felt, if he became a stationary target he¡¯d invite catastrophe.

    All it would take was one javelin to the face and he was done for.

    So he ran. He didn¡¯t care in which direction. This ground floor was an endless forest of pillars and giant stone foundations to the raised ruins above. It was infested with goblins, and he came at them so quickly that they barely had time to recover from their shock.

    Harald¡¯s Dawnblade trailed behind him in a version of the Tail stance as he ran, and each time he came upon a goblin he swept the sword up and around, hewing the wiry bodies apart. He didn¡¯t stop to engage or check if he¡¯d dealt his foe a mortal wound, but simply kept on running, his energy boundless, his exhilaration without terminus, a fleet shadow amidst the columns that hunted down his prey.

    And there was much to kill.

    The goblins were clearly thrown off their game by having the hunt brought down to their level. They screeched in fury and dismay as he fell upon them, rounding corners and crashing into small groups that had gathered to hastily confer, or simply running right into a group sprinting his way, bowling them to all sides as he cleaved through their number.

    The cold fury of the Aching Depths permeated the air, stilling the mist, darkening the lower realm, and Shadowy Fortitude seemed to derive sustenance from this dusk-like state. With each blow of his blade Harald felt Abyssal Attunement derive sustenance from his victims, small pulses of energy that were akin to spitting mouthfuls of oil onto a bonfire.

    He raged.

    Leaped over rubble, resisted the urge to throw aside his shield and hack his blade with both hands.

    The Shadow Mastiff was his constant companion, sensed more than seen, its stealth powers finally coming into their own as it became a roving shadow, endlessly crushing goblins in huge maw. The Goldchops threshed the enemy without surcease, spinning and trailing blood through the air, butchering and butchering and butchering -

    Harald took a javelin in the side. It hit him like a solid punch, the head driving home and causing him to gasp. With a grunt he dismissed the Dawnblade and tore the javelin free. Its head was black with his blood. Dark Vigor and Shadowy Fortitude made it so that he could barely feel any weakness, while the pain was nonexistent.

    But the sight of his life¡¯s blood upon the weapon was¡­ invigorating.

    He¡¯d begun to feel detached from the peril of his situation. The blow brought it crashing home how he was still just a Level 2 Abyssal Initiate.

    A wise man would take what he¡¯d accomplished down here and head home. Call it a day, a massacre well executed.

    A wise man would know when enough was enough.

    Reflexes caused Harald to duck under another hurled javelin, and then sidestep a second.

    His two Thrones were almost about to give out.

    Thinking quickly, Harald ducked into a deep alcove in the base of a large plaza foundation, and willed the Goldchops to guard the entrance.

    Just in time. The flood of power from his Thrones thinned out and then died. The Dawnblade turned green, and his Abilities died away.

    Which meant all the aches and pains came roaring to the fore. Harald grimaced as he became aware of numerous nicks and gashes, but it was manageable.

    For awhile he simply hunkered down, catching his breath, allowing his Thrones to restore, and then, when he felt ready, he rose and felt Shadowy Fortitude return to him, banishing his pain.

    Harald emerged, blade in hand, and saw movement all around.

    The brown fog was burning away to reveal chaotic ranks of goblins closing in on him from all sides.

    Harald grinned.

    ¡°Got your shit together while I was resting?¡±

    Here and there he saw a goblin boss looming massive amongst the ranks.

    Looks like they¡¯d finally rounded up enough troops to bring the battle to him.

    Harald hurled the javelin into the ranks, summoned his Dawnblade, and laughed.

    Fifty, sixty, maybe more goblins were closing in around him like a hangman¡¯s noose.

    ¡°You want to play?¡± He felt unhinged, murderous, elated. ¡°Well, I brought my toys!¡±

    And the Goldchops came crunching into view, plowing through the bodies like scythes through wheat, even as the Shadow Mastiff bayed and caused the gathered goblins to shudder and draw back.

    Harald absorbed a Golden Dawn, simply thrusting his finger into the pouch, then raced forward at the closest goblins, shield raised high, the power of the Aching Depths robbing his foes of all confidence and desire to oppose him.

    The ranks before him broke and parted.

    Harald laughed and raced through, deeper into their midst. A goblin boss stepped into view, huge club raised. The Aching Depths washed over the giant brute, his striking visage distended into a howl of hatred that Harald couldn¡¯t hear.

    A Goldchop came spinning in from the left; the boss sensed the incoming death and swung his club at the hatchet, twisting with impressive speed.

    His club exploded into splinters as he deflected the hatchet, but then Harald was there, thrusting his blade into the boss¡¯s paunch. Who screamed in pain, the black corruption of the abyss spreading across his belly as a pulse of strength flooded into Harald. The boss went to backhand Harald across the face, but missed as Harald ducked, tore his blade free, and cleaved his arm off at the elbow.

    Goblins on all sides. Only the Aching Depths and the Shadow Mastiff¡¯s occasional howl of horror kept them from swamping him and winning the day. Harald swung his blade out wide, causing the goblins to fall back, then brought the sword up and around as he¡¯d drilled a thousand times to cleave the boss¡¯s other arm off at the other elbow.

    The boss fell back in dismay, blood fountaining from his arms, but the wound in his gut was his true undoing; even as he stepped back behind his goblins, Harald saw him topple.

    But Harald had already turned to new prey. He rushed at the goblins to the left, who screamed and shoved at each other, seeking to get away, but Harald cut them down. A Goldchop spun through their ranks, unstoppable, bursting bodies and causing gore to fountain as Harald slashed and cut.

    But the boss¡¯s weren¡¯t to be underestimated. A hail of javelins fell down upon Harald, several missing by inches and hitting the ground at a near vertical dive, but some four slammed into his back, one into the back of his knee.

    This is why people don¡¯t hunt the 13th alone, a voice that sounded just like Sam spoke at the back of his mind, but Harald ignored it even as he staggered forward and wheeled about.

    No pain.

    Just weakness, his left leg giving out.

    He swept his blade over one shoulder and across his back, knocking several javelins loose. Dark Vigor roared through him, but it couldn¡¯t compensate for such terrible wounds. Harald raised his shield high as he backed out of the brawl, dismissing his Dawnblade and thrusting his fist into his scale pouch.

    He was almost out.

    He absorbed everything he had left, strength and vigor flowing into him, and then realized he¡¯d been ignoring a huge resource that hovered glittering right before him.

    Endless Silver Starbursts floating above the corpses.

    With a grin Harald took off at a hobbled run, his left leg still weak, and began following a path that led through the greatest concentrations of scales.

    He¡¯d been limiting himself to needing to touch. The quickest way to absorb scales was to absorb them directly through your skin. But he¡¯d absorbed his first Zenith through his armor into his heart, Ascending to his first Throne as he¡¯d lain on the floor of the 4th.

    He could do so again, now, with every Silver he ran through. Will it into his being with a hunger for health, a desire driven by his very Soul Nature.

    The howling hunger that yearns to consume the world.

    Everyone took precious moments of focus and concentration to absorb a scale through armor or clothing.

    But as he ran through the Silvers, he simply drank them right in.

    Wonder and delight suffused him. Small pulses of health began to restore him, closing his wounds further, invigorating him.

    He¡¯d never heard of anyone else being able to do this, but then again, his Soul Rank was Divine, and focused almost exclusively on consumption.

    Harald laughed as he felt the wounds close, his energy return. The Moons made for slow healing, but the swirling mist was littered with them, the corpses of scores of goblins littered all around him.

    More javelins rained down on him, but Harald dodged and ducked and cut down the few that he saw coming from the front.

    The goblin army had broken, he realized. They hadn¡¯t been able to stand up to the Goldchops and Shadow Mastiff. Their numbers were streaming away into the mist.

    Going¡­ where?

    Harald decided to find out.

    He searched and saw a goblin boss racing away into the gloom, turning a corner around a massive column.

    Harald took off after him.

    The goblins no longer sought to give battle. They melted away, fleeing Harald and his Goldchops. No javelins rained down on him now. Harald would have lost the boss in the thick fog if his Mastiff hadn¡¯t appeared beside him, tongue lolling happily out the side of its gore-slicked muzzle, and picked up the scent.

    Together they ran through the ruins, until they reached a tunnel entrance in the side of a giant block of shaped stone. Harald paused. The wall of rock rose up to the upper level, no doubt the side of a plaza or the like. The tunnel descended into the earth at a steep level, its depths lost to darkness.

    Harald licked his dry lips, glanced behind him as the Goldchops came flying up to resume their posts by each of his shoulders, gleaming and clean of all blood.

    ¡°You sure the boss went down there?¡± he asked the Mastiff.

    Who lowered his nose to the ground, sniffed audibly as he roved back and forth, and fetched up against the tunnel mouth again. He looked back to Harald and gave a low chuffing woof.

    Harald tongued the inside of his cheek. A tunnel downward didn¡¯t necessarily mean a way to the 14th Level, it was¡­ likely.

    Which was fascinating. Did that mean certain dungeon denizens could move from floor to floor? Perhaps only the elites, like the bosses? Or perhaps they could only descend because their power level qualified them for the 14th?

    Harald didn¡¯t know.

    He examined himself. He was spattered in blood, his arms drenched to the elbows as if he¡¯d dipped them in vats of pig blood.

    It was madness to go below.

    And yet.

    Harald glanced at his Goldchops.

    Glanced at the Shadow Mastiff, who perked up as it panted happily.

    He thought of the Terror Birds overwhelming him so easily, how impotent he¡¯d felt.

    Frowning, he turned the Dawnblade over, examining its gleaming, perfect ebon length.

    The 14th Level.

    More goblins, but also where hobgoblins first started to make an appearance.

    Harald tightened his grip on the blade, anger pounding in his head.

    Slaughtering goblins on the 13th wasn¡¯t going to take him anywhere.

    He needed a bigger challenge.

    ¡°Let¡¯s see what we find below,¡± he whispered, and began walking toward the tunnel.

    Only for a message to appear in his vision, stark and strange for appearing by itself:

    The Demon Seed has stirred

    A moment later, it was replaced by the beginning of a new set of messages, appearing as if prompted by the first:

    The abyss approves of your dedication.

    Your boldness has resonated through the depths.

    By the decree of the Fallen Angel, you are granted the next echelon of your destiny:

    Abyssal Initiate 3

 Portraits and maps

    Hey everyone,

    I thought it''d be fun to share a bunch of portraits and infographics I''ve made over the past few months in one place. Going back, it seems many of those image links are broken for some reason, so rather than combing through chapter by chapter, I''ll just put everything here. Enjoy!

    Vic

    Nessa

    Sam

    The Fallen Angel

    Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    Vorakhar

    Eclavistra

    Lady Hammerfell

    Lady Yseult

    The Glimpsed Angel

    Sam''s Apartment

    The Houses

 Chapter 75

    Harald rubbed at his face, glanced around one more time to ensure he wasn¡¯t about to be ambushed, then moved to crouch with his back to the wall so that he couldn¡¯t be surprised. Blade resting across his knees, Goldchops and Shadow Mastiff watching over him, he focused on the new message and drank in their gifts:

    Abyssal Initiate 3

    Active Ability Unlocked: Demonic Edge

    Unleash the unholy fury of your blade; let your strikes extend beyond the steel. Each slash carries the essence of darkness, rending space with your weapon¡¯s almighty force.

    Passive Ability Unlocked: Umbral Aegis

    Cloak yourself in the shadows of the abyss. This malefic armor, woven from the darkest energies, grows with your command over the Thrones, guarding you against the ravages of both blade and sorcery.

    ¡°Damn,¡± whispered Harald. The Demon Seed didn¡¯t stir again, no doubt indicating that it was content with these iterations of his new Abilities. Or, given the baldly stated Demonic Edge, perhaps its influence was becoming so overt that it was now wresting full control of the Abilities from the original Abyssal Class.

    Let your strikes extend beyond the steel. What did that mean? Harald considered the Dawnblade, then grimaced and stood.

    Time to find out.

    He adopted the Tower guard, the original stance that Vic had taught him and Sam what felt like a lifetime ago. Hilt to his shoulder, blade vertical, back upright, shoulders down, chest puffed.

    It felt natural now. He simply stepped into the right posture, as if his body knew what to do. He considered the thick trunk of a dead tree across from him, its canopy hidden by the brown mist that thickened above them.

    It was about ten yards away.

    Harald intuitively summoned the Abyssal Attunement, so that the Dawnblade ran back, then reached for Demonic Edge.

    It wasn¡¯t a Passive, nor even a passive Active, like Abyssal Attunement; once activated, Attunement simply maintained itself, feeding Harald with pulses of energy and delivering grievous wounds upon his foes.

    But Demonic Edge was entirely distinct. It was a singular and purposeful Ability, one that he deployed in much the manner that one swung a blade. He could sense its potential around in, a haze of energy generated by the Demon Seed, perhaps, or simply fueled by his Thrones.

    It felt different from Abyssal energy. More violent, more¡­ cruel. The abyss was a domain of depth and cold, of darkness and aching power. There was a stillness to it, a profundity, that made it at once terrifying and worthy of respect.

    This Demonic Edge, however, was definitely linked to his Demon Seed. It reminded him of Vorakhar, of Eclavistra. Felt saturated in that kind of purposeful evil, its elegance a disguise over its barbarous inhumanity.

    Harald gulped. This was indeed something else. It felt¡­ dangerous, even to himself. Like picking up a bottle in whose neck a burning rag had been stuffed. It was a weapon, assuredly, but there was no telling when it might explode.

    Beyond that, it felt like¡­ an acceptance, on his part. Thus far he¡¯d been able to use his powers by thinking of them as ¡®abyssal¡¯, a not entirely comforting notion, but one divorced from demons. But to deploy the Demonic Edge felt like embracing what Vorakhar was gifting him, stepping farther down the path toward damnation.

    The Goldchops abruptly flew away to the left, disappearing into the fog. There was a cry of horror, then a wet, explosive sound, and then the hatchets returned to hover serenely by his shoulders.

    Harald grimaced. He couldn¡¯t afford to be squeamish. How was the Demonic Edge different from the Goldchops? It was just a weapon like any other. What mattered was what he did with it, assuredly? Was it demonic to kill goblins? No.

    Thus, it was but a new aspect of his arsenal. He¡¯d be a fool to disdain any weapon gifted to him by his class, no matter its origin.

    Harald exhaled and steadied himself. Stared at the distant tree, and tightened his grip on the Dawnblade¡¯s hilt.

    Cut, he heard Vic bark, and stepped forward to slash at the trunk even as he activated the Edge, infusing his blade with its fell power.

    Harald felt a surge of raw, dark energy course through his body, originating deep from within his core and extending out through his arms. It felt exhilarating, unnerving, like a torrent of cold fire rushing through his veins.

    The abyssal Dawnblade, already a wickedly dangerous weapon, suddenly felt at once heavier and even more perfectly balanced, as if it had become an extension of Harald¡¯s will, a conduit for this greater, darker force. The blade slashed through the air with unnatural ease, as if slicing through the fabric of reality itself.

    An arc of visible, dark energy rippled outward, casting eerie shadows as it fled across the clearing, distorting the air and leaving a shimmering trail of afterimages. A deep and resonant growl filled the air, almost a hum, as if the darkness itself had come alive, and in a flash the arc of dark energy slammed into the tree, warping it briefly as if a sinister heat haze had slammed into the bark.

    Harald had half hoped that the massive tree might topple over entirely, but though it shivered it remained standing. He jogged over, wide-eyed, and studied the oblique slash that had cut deeply into the wood. It was a massive cut, and, curious, he slid the tip of the Dawnblade into it.

    Some five inches deep.

    And the edges of the gash were darkening, as if burning from within, growing charred and cracked.

    ¡°Damn,¡± he whispered, and glanced back at where he¡¯d stood by the tunnel entrance. Did it grow weaker the farther it went, or did it have a hard range beyond which it simply vanished abruptly?

    Trusting in the Goldchops to watch his back as he experimented, Harald backed some fifteen yards from the tree to where a massive column of ancient bricks rose into the mist, and again steadied himself.

    Summoning the Demonic Edge was a big swing¡ªit took a bite out of his Thrones, making it so that it was a consequential use of his reserves. Again Harald raised his blade, again he settled himself, and again he slashed, evoking the Demonic Edge and feeling that cold fire race up from his core, passing into his weapon, and unleashing an arc of coruscating darkness.

    It flashed toward the tree and slammed home again, causing it to shiver anew. Harald ran back and examined the new cut, probing its depth. Some three inches? Clearly the attack lost power the farther it traveled.

    Good to know. He¡¯d not be picking off distant foes with it from across the battlefield. Or perhaps he would once he could feed more power into the attack. For now, it would allow him mastery of his immediate environs, delivering awesome and terrifying attacks within fifteen or so yards.

    Harald grinned. It¡¯d be interesting to see how Yeoric¡¯s Shrug It Off handled this strike.

    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    Elated, Harald decided to worry about the potential peril to his soul later, and instead turned to his new Passive.

    Umbral Aegis.

    He reread the description: Cloak yourself in the shadows of the abyss. This malefic armor, woven from the darkest energies, grows with your command over the Thrones, guarding you against the ravages of both blade and sorcery.

    Abyss themed once more. Clearly the original class wasn¡¯t giving up the fight with the Demon Seed that easily. Still, fascinating, and better yet, it clearly stated that this Ability would grow as his own mastery of the Thrones developed.

    Too eager to ponder it further, Harald closed his eyes and reached for the Ability. Just like the others, it was simply there, the knowledge of how to channel the power from this twin Thrones into its manifestation.

    Harald willed the Aegis to manifest, and the darkness heeded his call.

    It flowed toward him, a sentient cascade drawn from the very abyss itself. Armored plates sculpted from obsidian-like hardened shadows formed around him, their surface rippling with an almost liquid motion, reflecting none of the cancerous brown light that touched it.

    The Aegis cloaked him from heel to crown, a shadow haze forming before his face as if he¡¯d activated the Aching Depths, and when he reached up he felt a smooth helm about his head, its face utterly smooth and angled like a knife blade down the centerline, descending to a sharp point just below his chin. The brow swept upward to form a crown of jagged spikes. There were no perforations, no eyeholes, nothing, but while the helm felt as hard as steel to the touch, the shadowy faceplate was almost indistinct, giving Harald his complete field of vision and even allowing him to smell the air as if it weren¡¯t there.

    Harald then examined his hands. Gauntlets had formed over them, the fingers extending into sharp, talon-like claws from whose tips thin threads of darkness endlessly unspooled. Awed, he passed his hand before his face, and saw that it left the faintest of trails of darkness behind; there seemed to be no tangible benefit to this effect, but perhaps it hinted at some future development?

    Delighted, Harald looked over his shoulder, then half-turned as he sought to catch sight of his cloak. It flowed from his shoulders, as dense and lightless as his armor, but it was through this cloak that he sensed the Aegis¡¯ power coming, as if the cloak itself, which trailed behind him like smoke, its edges frayed and constantly shifting, were a tether to the abyss.

    ¡°Damn,¡± whispered Harald, extending his arms before him then gazing down his length. The armor was weightless as shadow, and fitted over his clothing and piecemeal leather armor without a problem, like mist settling over the dips and rises of a countryside. He felt emboldened, dangerous, lethal.

    But he could sense the strain this new Passive put on his twin Thrones. Curious, reluctant, Harald activated the Aching Depths, and then Dark Vigor.

    Flames shimmered over his shadow armor, and with his Dawnblade Attuned to the abyss, he felt the draw on his Thrones become near overwhelming.

    To cap it off, he raised his ebon sword and unleashed a third attack upon the tree. The dark arc flew forth to slam into the corrugated bark, but the drain was terrible.

    The entire combination of Abilities lasted a few moments longer, but then his connection to his twin Thrones faded away, and with it went the Umbral Aegis. The Dawnblade turned green once more, and the flames of Dark Vigor died down.

    Harald frowned. He¡¯d have to be tactical with his Abilities. As much as he¡¯d like to just rush around with all his powers burning bright, he¡¯d need to deploy them only as necessary. Which meant saving the Umbral Aegis and Demonic Edge for critical moments.

    This limitation grated, but it only fired his determination to Ascend to his third Throne all the more.

    Curious, impatient, Harald summoned his window and checked his scale count:

    Scales: 494,677/1,000,000

    ¡°Damn it.¡± That was little more than what he¡¯d had when he¡¯d emerged from the 27th Level. Most of his increase had come from the two Aurora Veils Sam had paid him earlier that day for his role in the dungeon delve to the 12th. The rest was the Coppers and Silvers he¡¯d collected himself, with a couple of Golds from his healing.

    Not good enough.

    If only he¡¯d not given his father¡¯s Twilight Infinitum to his friends. He could have absorbed it himself, immediately Ascended to his third Throne¡­

    Harald grimaced. And not formed the crew. And not forged bonds with his friends that followed his father¡¯s advice.

    By the Fallen Angel, the temptation to throw all caution and friendships to the wind was so strong.

    Harald rubbed at his jaw. Was the right move to head down to the 14th and continue collecting Silver Starbursts, or should he really push it and try the 27th again? But getting to the 27th would involve taking the Dungeon Portal to the 25th and descending two levels.

    Not an easy proposition, given that he was uniquely suited to kill scarecrows, but not what might await him on the other two levels.

    Harald considered the tunnel down.

    He was here, and he had new Abilities to test.

    Might as well make the most of it.

    ¡°Ready?¡± he asked the Mastiff, who came padding up and thrust its shoulder against him. So big was the hound that it made Harald stagger to the side. He reached down to grab the dire beast by the head and rough up its hide, scritching it behind the ears and grinning as the terrifying dog closed its eyes and raised its head for more.

    ¡°Shameless,¡± laughed Harald. ¡°And to think I once thought you were terrifying.¡±

    The Mastiff panted happily as it studied him with its jet black eyes, jowls open to reveal its black tongue.

    ¡°I really need to give you a good name.¡± Harald crouched before his Servitor. ¡°Hmm. Gloom¡­Gloomfang? No. Doomhowler?¡±

    The Mastiff just stared at him, clearly unimpressed.

    ¡°Sir Shadowsnarl the Dark? Um¡­ Baron Creepwoof?¡±

    The Mastiff sat on his haunches, eyes narrowing.

    ¡°Shady. Dusky. Black Dog. Sooty. Shadowpaw?¡±

    Shadowpaw raised an eyebrow.

    ¡°Shadowpaw!¡± Harald grinned. ¡°I like it. Can you live with it?¡±

    Shadowpaw sighed dolorously, as if he were the most long-suffering hound in all of the Fallen Angel¡¯s dungeon.

    ¡°I¡¯m glad you love it.¡± Harald dared to reach out and scritch Shadowpaw¡¯s head one more time. ¡°Ready to descend to the 14th?¡±

    Shadowpaw let out a basso profundo woof.

    Harald moved to the tunnel entrance and hesitated.

    He¡¯d been avoiding acknowledging what had actually happened. Despite fighting with the Goldchops and Shadowpaw, he¡¯d gained a level. That wasn¡¯t how it was supposed to work. He was supposed to acquire scales and progress toward his third Throne.

    Instead, the Demon Seed had stirred and¡­ what? Forced the delivery of his new level? It had never stirred before the delivery of a stat bonus or level.

    What had he been thinking just before it triggered? Harald frowned, trying to recollect exactly. He¡¯d desired a bigger challenge. Had given in to his desire for more blood, more violence, greater rewards, and more difficult battles.

    That resolve had caused the Demon Seed to stir like never before.

    Not only that, but for the first time one of his Abilities was blatantly demonic in nature. Was he feeding the Seed by pursuing this solitary path? Obviously he was. But was that¡­ wrong?

    Harald rubbed the base of his palm into his eye. Thought on the Terror Birds as they¡¯d overwhelmed him in the Dungeon Plaza. How else was he meant to acquire power? Hold himself back to Nessa¡¯s cautious pace? He¡¯d not only fight Yeoric soon, but was in a race against the Dungeon itself and the next Shuddering.

    Shadowpaw made a questioning, chuffing sound as he stepped up to the tunnel and glanced back at Harald.

    The Demon Seed is given to very few, his father had written. Very fucking few. It¡¯ll set you on the path to real power if you can handle it. It got to be too much for me. I stopped my training. But if you handle it right from the beginning, then you have a chance.

    Harald felt a spike of irritation. How much easier would it be to just go below and slaughter more goblins? This hesitation felt like weakness.

    Look son, here¡¯s how you handle the Seed. It felt as if his father were reading the letter to him, voice inexorable, mocking, cruel. It feeds off bloody-minded acts of willpower. It¡¯s not enough to train hard. You¡¯ve got to not only leave nothing on the table, you¡¯ve got to knock the table over. It gets harder to impress with time, so enjoy the rush of rewards while they¡¯re coming. But if you go it alone like I did, you¡¯ll lose yourself like I did after your mother died.

    That¡¯s what had happened. He¡¯d resolved to go below against all wisdom, and the Seed had been impressed by his resolve.

    But did that mean he was losing himself?

    Harald closed his eyes and exhaled. How did he feel? Excited, nervous, eager. He wanted to test the Umbral Aegis and Demonic Edge. He wanted¡­ damn it, he wanted that same raw exhilaration that had come from terrorizing the goblins. To feel like an engine of destruction, unstoppable, dripping in the blood of his enemies, reveling in their fear and death.

    It was a dark pull.

    Intoxicating.

    Addicting.

    I only want power to help others, he¡¯d told Nessa. We are not the same.

    What would happen though if he refused to descend to the 14th? If he changed his mind and returned to Darrowdelve Manor? Would the Demon Seed rage at its gift being squandered? Would Vorakhar sense his lack of faith in the Seed¡¯s bloody creed?

    ¡°What do I do, boy?¡± whispered Harald, glancing at Shadowpaw.

    The Mastiff sniffed at the portal, took three steps forward, then glanced back at Harald again to whine.

    ¡°You want to go below, don¡¯t you?¡±

    Shadowpaw¡¯s eyes glimmered with an oily black hunger for violence.

    ¡°I do, too. And¡­¡± Harald felt his desire for violence within him like a river of fire. The yearning to explore his new powers, to acquire more scales, to grow more proficient in battle, to defeat that which opposed him, to become¡­ more. ¡°And I¡¯ll never be able to protect the innocents if I don¡¯t push myself past all reason.¡±

    The words tasted sour in his mouth, though he knew they were true. He knew they were the real reason he was going below.

    The thrill, the visceral pleasure in acquiring more and slaughtering his foes?

    That was just the icing on the cake.

    And after all, he had to learn what his new powers could do against real foes.

    Didn¡¯t he?

    ¡°Lead on, boy,¡± said Harald, squaring his shoulders as he pushed his doubts aside. ¡°Let¡¯s go hunt.¡±

    Shadowpaw let out an excited bark and coursed ahead, disappearing into the darkness of the tunnel.

    Harald grinned, and feeling like a consummate predator, followed the Mastiff into the depths.

 Major Updates Incoming

    I''ve sold the audiobook rights of Thrones of the Fallen to Podium. I''m going to be structuring each ''book'' as a 150k word arc, or roughly 45 chapters each.

    This has caused me to step back and eye the narrative sweep of the tale thus far, and realize, reluctantly, that some profound pacing/structural changes are necessary.

    On one hand, this will result in shuffling some things around, cutting others, and tightening everything up, meaning that the story you''ve been reading will become an alternate timeline of what the final and official version will be.

    On the other hand, the story is going to get so much better as a result.

    What changes? This is what I''ve planned/executed so far:

    Book 1: (Done)

    The first 45 chapters will now culminate in Harald dueling Yeoric. That duel will remain square and center for the entire first arc, and Harald''s energy and focus will remain solidly on defeating his first rival and foe.

    This means that Yeoric''s challenge gives Harald only 1 month to train, and he faces his nemesis at Level 1, with only Aura of the Aching Depths and Abyssal Attunement in his arsenal.

    However, he changes how he distributes his father''s Twilight Infinitum to give him an edge: he now suggests from the get-go that the Infinitum be broken into 10 Horizon''s Whispers, with one going to pay Countess Sonora, another raising him to his Second Throne, and two going to Sam to repay her for her life''s service. and help her Ascend to her Second Throne as well.

    If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    The rest is dumped into the crew fund, and the Artifact''s distributed accordingly. We skip the whole chapter where his friends react negatively to his largesse, and instead move straight into their discussing how the crew might best be set up.

    Thus the arc for Book 1 is more tightly focused: it''s a sprint to gain as much power as possible to face and defeat Yeoric, and the final chapter ends with the next big threat stepping onto the playing board: Lady Yseult Khan knocking on his door, asking for a moment of his time.

    Book 2: (Next)

    This is where the Royal Road chapters are right now. The second Book arc will encompass Chapters 45 - 86 or so, and will revolve around the auction and navigating the attention of the major Houses. House Celestis presses him to join, Harald and his crew assault the goblin levels, and the Shuddering only cements his prominence. K¨¢rsek joins the team, and the narrative arc culminates in events that will soon be revealed.

    Book 3:

    This is where the Patreon is at, and will also require some editing. Suffice to say, life doesn''t become easier for Harry-boy.

    As soon as I''ve polished the first Book, I''ll post all the new material here, including the duel with Yeoric and the modified outline.

    In the meantime, I''m going to continue posting the chapters from my backlog as I edit Book 2, and then I''ll post those major edits. Then I''ll revise what''s been written for Book 3 thus far, and make a big announcement when I drop those edits and jump the rails completely to the new timeline.

    Please note: this is all going to happen fast. Book 1 edits are done. Book 2 edits should only take a week or two. My goal is to have everything reoriented and done by early October.

    With a little luck, the new arcs with be tighter, cleaner, and more focused. Harald''s journey will make more intuitive sense, and the sense of progression will be sharper. His struggles and the plot will largely stay the same - I''m not doing a complete rewrite after all - but with everything moved around some, it should all be more satisfying to read.

    So! Thanks for your support and sticking with the tale. Things are going to get better from hereon out, and I really hope you all agree.

    Cheers!

    Phil

 Chapter 76

    Sam nestled into the curved window seat, a cozy nook formed by the lower third of the great circular window. The recessed sill was lined with cushions and blankets, transforming the space into a welcome embrace where she felt hidden from the night and the city outside.

    Mug of tea cupped in her hands, she watched the traffic streaming in and out of the Flowering Bower¡¯s front door below; she could hear the sound of the band playing and the guests laughing and conversing through her floorboards, but instead of bothering her, it felt like company; after so many years of living in isolation within Darrowdelve Manor, the constant and convivial noise felt as comforting as the old blanket around her shoulders.

    ¡°Come down anytime,¡± Brambleburst the innkeeper had said, wiping his hands after helping her bring up the last of her meager possessions. ¡°A friend of Furthak¡¯s a friend of the Bower. You¡¯ll always be welcome below.¡±

    She¡¯d smiled and promised to take him up on his offer, but though three weeks had passed, she¡¯d yet to take him up on it.

    It was enough to sit in her barren room and watch the customers from her window, to enjoy Liriel¡¯s beautiful singing from a distance, and to feel¡­ still.

    Sam glanced about her apartment. High ceilinged and narrow, with floors that glowed like honey in the morning light and walls painted a faded blue, it was an odd space, at once too big for her and yet just perfect. Chocolate brown beams framed the walls and ceiling, and a previous tenant had built a chaotic assembly of shelves in one corner, and there she¡¯d stacked her books and few possessions. She¡¯d bought a dozen potted plants and clustered them around the window, an indulgence of a bed, and a reading chair. The faded rug from her room, and¡­ nothing else.

    She loved it.

    Had loved it from the first moment she¡¯d seen the huge window. It dominated the largest wall, the window seat calling to her, its mismatched panes framed with copper, six feet in diameter and filling her apartment with all manner of light. She loved to gaze out over Flutic while it rained, or when the streets were lost to dawn mist, or in the middle of the night when the streetlamps glittered and the city seemed alive with wonder and mystery.

    The open floor served another purpose; she trained and stretched there, did her conditioning exercises and swung her weighted practice sword. Either she had to be pushing herself till she was soaked in sweat, or she desired nothing more than to be still.

    To not worry about dishes and cleaning, about cooking and laundry, to enjoy the blessed silence in her mind as the absence of her Majordomo Abilities finally left her alone.

    To not worry about Harald, about his finances, about his life.

    To be her own person.

    Whatever that meant.

    Sighing, she sat back. The skin on the left side of her chest burned where Stetorin had continued coloring in her new tattoo. Another three visits should see the piece finished, a great burning phoenix that stretched from its tail feathers down her left thigh, up along her ribs, to its outstretched feathers up the side of her neck.

    Getting the tattoo had terrified her. Sam smiled as she pressed the mug to her lips. How could something be so frightening and so right, all at the same time?

    But it was hers, the tattoo, and through it, she felt as if she were taking steps to reclaim her body, to own it.

    ¡°What a mess,¡± she whispered, then pursed her lips and gazed back out the window. A small knot of dwarven traders were approaching across the lantern-lit square, the four of them richly dressed, and behind them -

    Sam sat up, almost spilling her tea.

    Nessa?

    It was her, dressed all in black and midnight blues, a heavy cloak about her figure, longsword at her hip.

    Never was Sam more glad of extinguishing all her candles before taking to her window seat. She¡¯d learned on her first night just how visible she was if illuminated from behind, as a group of young men had catcalled up to her after catching sight of her seated in the window.

    Since then, she¡¯d made it a point of doing her city-watching in the dark.

    Nessa couldn¡¯t see her in the dark window, could she? No, she had no Ability to see in the dark. Then why was she here?

    Sam set her mug aside and watched Nessa avidly as the woman crossed the cobblestones to disappear below, entering the inn.

    Perhaps she had business with a drug dealer here? No, Brambleburst wouldn¡¯t tolerate that kind of activity. Then she was meeting a friend? Sam had made a point not to mention the inn¡¯s name to anyone in the crew.

    A coincidence, then. The Bower had a wonderful reputation.

    That was all.

    Heart pounding, Sam sat back, but her serenity was ruined. She listened intently. The music and laughter from below, the pitched conversations and the sound of people on the stairs remained as constant as ever.

    The Bower was a large and popular inn.

    Slowly, ever so slowly, Sam relaxed.

    Just a coincidence.

    Sam took up her mug and smirked. Why had she even been so nervous? It was just Nessa, after all. Come on, Sam. Relax.

    A firm knock sounded on her door, and this time Sam did spill the tea, sitting up so suddenly that she splashed it all over her leg and the edge of the window seat.

    Eyes wide, heart in her throat, she stared at the twin shadowy smudges under the edge of her door, distinct against the hallway light.

    ¡°Sam? It¡¯s Nessa. We need to talk.¡±

    Sam bit her lower lip. She wanted nothing more than to stay still, like a mouse waiting for the cat to lose interest and walk away.

    But that was nonsense. She was a woman grown, this her home, and she¡¯d not hide from Nessa.

    Even if her presence felt like a violation.

    Setting the mug aside, she rose, and pulled on a heavy woolen sweater that had belonged to her father as she stepped up to the door.

    ¡°Sam? The innkeep said you were -¡±

    Sam opened the door a crack and glared out at Nessa. ¡°How did you find me here?¡±

    Nessa didn¡¯t look good, but then again, she rarely did. Not strung out, as if from a bout of glory, but¡­ there was something to her gaze, a wounded, haunted look that softened Sam¡¯s prickliness.

    ¡°I followed you here once, a week or so ago.¡± Nessa¡¯s smile was just barely apologetic. ¡°Vic suggested it. It felt more tactful than asking outright. In case a crisis ever took place, and we needed to reach you, fast.¡±

    ¡°Tailing me to my new home is your idea of tactful?¡± Sam raised a brow. ¡°I guess I shouldn¡¯t be surprised.¡±

    ¡°Oh come, darling. Engage in enough skullduggery for long enough, and it becomes a hard habit to shake.¡± Nessa curled a lock of hair behind one ear. ¡°My apologies, though I¡¯m glad I did. I¡¯m concerned about Harald.¡±

    Her words were like a blow, eliciting an instinctive panicked alarm which was followed immediately by a sour resentment. This was her home, she¡¯d tried to draw a line between herself and Harald, to gain a healthy distance from her oathbound obsession with everything Darrowdelve.

    This flurry of emotion was near instantaneous, uncontrollable, but Sam clamped it down as she opened the door wide.

    ¡°Come in. Tell me what¡¯s happened.¡±

    Nessa hesitated in the doorway. The apartment was only lit by the diffuse light coming from the massive window.

    ¡°One second,¡± apologized Sam, and quickly activated a scale-lantern she kept by the door. The warm ruddy glow filled the center of her high ceilinged home, and Sam gestured for Nessa to take her reading chair as she returned to her window seat.

    Nessa took in the place with an inscrutable expression. Sam tried not to read her reaction, to not care what Nessa felt about her new home, and hated herself for the warmth she felt when the other woman spoke.

    ¡°Lovely place you¡¯ve got here. That window is amazing.¡±

    Sam forced her smile into a grimace. ¡°Thank you.¡±

    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    Nessa sat lightly on the edge of her chair. ¡°I know we¡¯ve not seen eye-to-eye much before. And I don¡¯t fault you. I¡¯ve been¡­ complicated to deal with. Which is why¡­¡± She exhaled raggedly, flashed an exasperated smile at Sam, then looked out the window. ¡°Why is being sincere and direct so much harder than acidic wit?¡±

    ¡°Perhaps you¡¯ve spent too much time with Vic.¡±

    ¡°That must be it.¡± Nessa was squeezing one gloved hand with the other, and seemed to notice, for she took hold of the chair¡¯s forward edge, arms straightening, and leaned forward. ¡°Harald went to the dungeon tonight.¡±

    Sam¡¯s shoulders slumped. ¡°Again?¡±

    Nessa nodded. ¡°I¡­ perhaps you don¡¯t know, but early on, Harald stopped me one night from leaving the manor. He was¡­ remarkably persuasive.¡± Nessa bit her lower lip, considered, then shook her head. ¡°He¡¯s so naive, yet¡­ since his change, he¡¯s become¡­¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± agreed Sam.

    ¡°Anyway, I felt¡ªI feel¡ªas if I owe him for that. For all of this. And knowing he would probably head out, I waited for him in the entrance hall, and¡ªwell. Of course it didn¡¯t go well.¡± Nessa¡¯s smile was mocking. ¡°I¡¯m not as good as he is at making moral arguments.¡±

    Sam felt some of her reserve melt at the obvious pain in Nessa¡¯s eyes. ¡°At least you tried?¡±

    ¡°Yes, well. I didn¡¯t come here for a pat on the head. You¡¯ve known Harald all your life, haven¡¯t you? I thought you could¡­¡± Nessa trailed off helplessly.

    ¡°I¡¯ve technically known him all my life, yes.¡± Sam sat up straighter. ¡°But for most of it that was as his family maid. I wouldn¡¯t say he stared straight through me for most of those years, but I was¡­¡± Sam fought back the bitterness. ¡°Oathbound servants have more in common with the furniture than real people.¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± said Nessa.

    ¡°No, wait.¡± Sam closed her eyes and grimaced. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. That wasn¡¯t fair of me. I¡¯m¡­ it¡¯s just¡­¡±

    Nessa stayed quiet.

    ¡°I¡¯ve been trying really hard to figure myself out. And this space has felt like a really important part of that process. Having you come here with problems about Harald is¡­ it brings back all my old instincts to go rushing after him, which I¡¯ll probably do anyway, since he¡¯s my best friend, but¡­¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s complicated,¡± suggested Nessa.

    ¡°But it¡¯s complicated,¡± agreed Sam with a smile of bitter relief. ¡°Yes. That. Exactly.¡±

    ¡°Well, I know how that goes.¡± Nessa sat back, crossing one leg over the other. ¡°My life is nothing if not full of complications I¡¯ve made for myself.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t choose to be Oathbound.¡±

    ¡°Just as I didn¡¯t choose to be the daughter of an abusive cunt of a man, darling, but here we are, wrestling with our own demons.¡±

    Sam went to say something but caught herself just in time.

    ¡°What?¡± Nessa¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°Were you going to say something about my choosing glory while you have chosen¡­¡± She looked around the apartment. ¡°Spying on people?¡±

    Sam flushed. ¡°I¡¯m not spying on them. It¡¯s my window. Am I supposed to draw a curtain and never look outside?¡±

    Nessa¡¯s smile was pitying. ¡°Oh come on, Sam. Tell me you don¡¯t spend the vast majority of your time in that window seat. It¡¯s got more cushions and pillows than your bed.¡±

    ¡°What I do with my time is none of your business.¡±

    ¡°But my glory habit is yours?¡±

    ¡°If it affects your capacity as our Delve Captain? Absolutely.¡±

    Nessa¡¯s eyes glittered. ¡°And has it?¡±

    ¡°Well. No. Not yet.¡±

    ¡°Yet.¡±

    Sam raised an eyebrow. ¡°Are you telling me you¡¯ve not used glory since joining our crew?¡±

    ¡°What happened to respecting each other¡¯s privacy?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll take that for a yes.¡±

    ¡°Then you¡¯ll have to admit it didn¡¯t impair my abilities.¡±

    ¡°Yet.¡±

    Nessa rolled her eyes. ¡°Oh, stop being so sanctimonious. I said it myself, didn¡¯t I, that I¡¯m not good at making moral arguments? It¡¯s why I came here. Though perhaps I shouldn¡¯t have bothered.¡±

    Sam sat back, pulse racing, glaring at the woman. ¡°No. You should have.¡± The words were ground out. ¡°When did Harald leave?¡±

    ¡°Perhaps two hours ago.¡± Nessa bounced her foot. ¡°He¡­ well. Suffice to say he¡­ his rebuttal was¡­ cutting. I wasn¡¯t quite myself there for a moment. But, and I dare say you¡¯ll be mollified, I chose to come here instead of seeking another source of relief.¡±

    ¡°Two hours ago.¡± Sam could only imagine what Harald might have said. ¡°He¡¯s well inside the dungeon now. Did he say what level?¡±

    ¡°No. Though if I had to hazard a guess, it would be back to the goblins. He can¡¯t reach the 27th, and is clearly unimpressed by the first dozen levels. Given his mood, I somehow doubt he¡¯d settle for collecting Coppers.¡±

    ¡°The 12th?¡± Sam felt a jolt of alarm tear through her. ¡°By himself? But¡ªhe can¡¯t be so mad.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s got his Goldchops and his Servitor,¡± said Nessa. ¡°And yes, I do think he could be that stupid. Worse¡­ with the Goldchops, he might actually be fine. That¡¯s the danger in acquiring stupidly powerful Artifacts. Their abilities go to your head.¡±

    ¡°But all it would take is one javelin in the back¡­¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re starting to see why I came here.¡±

    ¡°What do you think we should do?¡±

    ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t know. There¡¯s nothing intelligent we can do tonight. We could rouse Vic from whatever perfumed bed he¡¯s lolling about it, then rush to the 12th and just race around like headless chickens shouting Harald¡¯s name and never come across him. The 12th is too large and ever changing.¡±

    ¡°Then what?¡±

    ¡°We pray he survives this folly, and when he comes home, we¡­ speak to him.¡±

    ¡°An intervention.¡±

    ¡°I do love that word. And it would be so novel for me to be on the concerned side for once.¡±

    Sam bit her lower lip and gazed sightlessly out the window. ¡°He won¡¯t listen.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re his dearest, most beloved friends.¡± Nessa¡¯s voice dripped with sarcasm. ¡°We have to find a way to make him listen.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s¡­ you know what his Soul Nature is, right?¡±

    ¡°I heard. Insatiable Void. But he¡¯s the one who insisted on this charter. His father¡¯s letter warned him.¡±

    ¡°I know, I just¡­¡± Sam hugged her knees to her chest.

    ¡°Just because you¡¯re not Oathbound to him anymore doesn¡¯t mean you can¡¯t look out for him.¡±

    Sam glared at Nessa. ¡°You think I don¡¯t know that?¡±

    ¡°Then what is it?¡± Nessa stood. ¡°Do you just want to be left alone to stare out that window all day long?¡±

    ¡°Yes? Maybe?¡± Sam stood as well. ¡°I¡¯ve lived a life of enforced servitude. Is that so wrong?¡±

    ¡°Only if you care about Harald.¡±

    ¡°Do you?¡±

    Nessa snorted. ¡°Of course I do. I love him passionately with all my heart.¡±

    ¡°I thought you didn¡¯t want to hide behind acidic wit.¡±

    ¡°Damn it.¡± Nessa pinched the bridge of her nose. ¡°Look. I do care for Harald. I¡­ he¡¯s changing so fast. It¡¯s almost frightening. And being his friend right now is¡­ challenging.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re telling me,¡± said Sam darkly.

    Nessa raised an eyebrow. ¡°The whole Oathbound thing?¡±

    ¡°That, and how he¡¯s so frighteningly obsessed with training.¡± Sam sat back down on the window seat¡¯s edge. ¡°Which I admire? But it makes me feel weak to want to just sit and sort through my feelings, or unmotivated when I want to spend time decorating my new home.¡±

    ¡°Frightening, yes.¡± Nessa crossed her arms. ¡°Especially when you consider the source of his newfound drive.¡±

    ¡°Vorakhar,¡± whispered Sam. ¡°Yes. Sometimes, when we¡¯re drilling together, say doing the sand bags, he gets this blank look like he¡¯s not even there. And he¡¯s growing so fast. His physical stats have more than doubled in just a month.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± said Nessa softly. ¡°If you feel weak because you want to drink some tea, imagine how I -¡± She cut herself off, and looked away.

    Sam studied Nessa. Her beauty was exactly the kind that drew every man¡¯s eye, her self-possession and confidence only making her more alluring. But it wasn¡¯t confidence, exactly, was it? It was toughness. Or perhaps even bitterness. Nessa was lethal as a Level 5 Bladeweaver, but as a person? She was deeply wounded. Something had happened to her that had left a mass of scar tissue, and it was too easy to mistake that for strength.

    Sam pursed her lips. She¡¯d judged Nessa so quickly. Disdained her for her carefree debauchery, her natural beauty, her caustic manner. She¡¯d accepted Nessa¡¯s pretense at superiority far too easily.

    Maybe because she herself was so quick to feel inferior.

    Sam sighed. ¡°Look. You did the right thing coming here. Thank you. We need to work together to help Harald.¡±

    Nessa glanced at Sam, uncertain.

    ¡°Our problem is going to be how to help him help himself.¡± Sam frowned. ¡°I mean, consider his Soul Ability.¡±

    ¡°Condemnation of Success.¡±

    ¡°Right. It¡¯s not a blessing, it¡¯s a curse. I think that¡¯s how Vorakhar intends to catch him, by causing him to push too hard. If we¡¯re going to help Harald, we need to¡­¡± Sam drifted off, mind racing. ¡°We need to stay with him. His father was right. He needs good people to help him question his decisions.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re not ready for the 27th Level.¡±

    ¡°I know. But maybe for his sake we need to push harder.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m the Delve Captain. It¡¯s my responsibility to ensure we don¡¯t all die.¡±

    Sam nodded. ¡°And I actually love that you take it so seriously. It¡¯s just about the only thing that you do.¡±

    Nessa flushed.

    ¡°But I think we need to blend your wisdom with Harald¡¯s need for a challenge. If we hold him back too much, he¡¯ll just leave. So we push harder, we train harder, and perhaps we add something in the charter to help him navigate his urge for ever more challenges. If he¡¯s going to insist on night raids, perhaps one of us can go with him each night.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a fucking miracle he hasn¡¯t collapsed from exhaustion,¡± muttered Nessa.

    ¡°I know. He couldn¡¯t even run a lap around Seasons Park a month ago. But yes. I think that¡¯s it. We¡¯ll just have to find a way to stay close. Make sure our tethers are sufficiently light that they don¡¯t cause him to run.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re right.¡± Nessa didn¡¯t sound pleased. ¡°And, what¡¯s worse, if we don¡¯t push harder, he¡¯ll soon outstrip us and then we¡¯ll really be irrelevant.¡±

    ¡°Says the lady who just made Level 5.¡±

    Nessa made a face. ¡°You know when I made Level 4? Two and a half years ago. I¡¯m going to need to do better if I want to stay relevant.¡±

    ¡°Given how Harald feels about you, I don¡¯t think that¡¯ll be a problem.¡± The words slipped out before Sam could stop them. Was that resentment? Bitterness? Or just plain acceptance? Sam wasn¡¯t sure.

    Instead of smirking, Nessa just rubbed her eyes. ¡°I know. But he¡¯s changing so fast. I¡¯ll need to do more than just flash him a little leg if I want him to keep me around.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t need to manipulate him.¡±

    ¡°I haven¡¯t been.¡± But the way she said it sounded guilty. Sam just stared at her till she scowled. ¡°I mean, I¡¯ve tried not to. On the whole.¡±

    ¡°On the whole?¡±

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter. Let¡¯s speak with Vic together, and then confront Harald tomorrow morning. Deal?¡±

    ¡°All right, yes.¡± Sam rose again and stepped forward, extending her hand. ¡°Deal.¡±

    Nessa glanced at her hand then smirked. ¡°What? We making this official?¡±

    ¡°This is me doing my best to put aside my assumptions about you. If this is going to work, all of it, then¡­ I need to do better.¡±

    Nessa still didn¡¯t take her hand. ¡°At?¡±

    ¡°Trying to work with the real Nessa behind the act you¡¯re always putting up.¡±

    Nessa laughed and took her hand. ¡°Good luck, darling. I perfected that act years ago.¡±

    ¡°I know.¡± Now it was Sam¡¯s turn to smirk. ¡°But my Soul Ability is Brightest Star - my unwavering light is supposed to guide the lost and forlorn.¡±

    Nessa laughed and dropped her hand. ¡°Oh, fuck you.¡±

    Sam grinned.

    The other woman went to open the door, then paused there, holding the handle. ¡°Thanks, Sam. I¡¯ve got a feeling that this is¡­ important.¡±

    ¡°I know what you mean.¡±

    ¡°No.¡± Nessa glanced back. ¡°What¡¯s happening with Harald? I think this is far bigger than we realize. We¡¯ve a responsibility not just to him as his friends, but to¡­ I don¡¯t know. Flutic. The Fallen Angel. Maybe even this war that¡¯s going on in the depths of the dungeon.¡±

    Her words chilled Sam, who realized she was right. ¡°You mentioned a few weeks ago that Vic knew an expert in demons?¡±

    ¡°Well.¡± Nessa smiled at some private joke. ¡°Sort of. Yes, fine. He¡¯s quite intelligent, in his own way. He won¡¯t talk to Vic, however.¡±

    ¡°Why not?¡±

    ¡°On account of Vic sleeping with his wife and his mistress.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡± Sam made a face, incredulous. ¡°Really?¡±

    Nessa sighed. ¡°Vic can be quite thorough when he wants to be.¡±

    ¡°Well¡­ perhaps we can approach him independently. Ask him what he knows about all this. I really think we need to get some help.¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡± Nessa considered. ¡°You might be right. I¡¯ll give some thought to it. See you tomorrow morning?¡±

    Sam nodded, then raised her hand in parting when Nessa smiled and let herself out.

    Sam stood there for a moment, then turned off the scale-lantern and returned to her window. Nessa emerged a few moments later and crossed the square.

    Sam thought she¡¯d leave without looking back, but at the last moment the other woman turned and gave a wave, and though Sam knew she was invisible in the dark window, she waved back.

 Chapters delayed due to Hurricane Helene

    Apologies everyone, but I''ve not had internet access since last Friday and cellular connectivity continues to be intermittent. I''ll be getting a new chapter up soon as I get a solid connection. Glad to report that me and mine here in Asheville are doing as well as possible under these conditions. Thanks again for your understanding, and I can''t wait for life to return to normal and chapters to start going back up.

    If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    (Copying to make entry 500 characters long)

    Apologies everyone, but I''ve not had internet access since last Friday and cellular connectivity continues to be intermittent. I''ll be getting a new chapter up soon as I get a solid connection. Glad to report that me and mine here in Asheville are doing as well as possible under these conditions. Thanks again for your understanding, and I can''t wait for life to return to normal and chapters to start going back up.

 Chapter 77

    The tunnel widened dramatically as it curved down and around through the earth, its walls shifting from rough rock to blocks of slate. Shadowpaw padded alongside him, sniffing and alert, and Harald moved forward cautiously. He wanted to press against the tunnel wall, to make himself a smaller target, but the tunnel was becoming a circular tube, so that only by walking dead center did he have a flat surface.

    Around and down it went, his scale-lantern pushing back the darkness, and when he finally saw diffuse light up ahead, the tunnel had become massive enough to easily drive a six-horse carriage through, the ceiling a good 25 feet above him.

    The light was gray and dreary, like that of an overcast day or an anemic dawn. Lowering himself into a crouch, Harald rounded the last of the curve, and saw up ahead that the tunnel simply ended, the rim sharply demarcated all the way around, beyond which lay a huge cavern that appeared open to the skies.

    Moving slowly, listening intently, Harald got down on his stomach and worked his way to the tunnel¡¯s end. With extreme caution, he peered out into the 14th Level.

    The cavern was perhaps a hundred yards deep, and encircled on both sides by towering gray cliffs so that it formed a rough oval. The broken ground was covered in dead brown grass and littered with gray rocks and rubble, with heavily eroded stretches of staircases on Harald¡¯s half descending from broken levels to the center. More broad staircases rose on the far side to a huge circular tunnel mouth embedded in the far wall.

    The entirety of the cavern floor was a strategic challenge, a mess of shattered boulders and steps, sharp drops and dry expanses of dead grass. Everything appeared weathered and old, as if this were a site long abandoned and perhaps once glorious.

    And amidst this ruin stood the monsters.

    Harald clenched his jaw at the sight of the hobgoblins. There was no mistaking them. A squad some six strong stood on the cavern¡¯s far side, positioned just before the other tunnel. They were the size of a man, solidly built, and armored in salvaged pieces that formed something akin to half-plate. At this distance Harald couldn¡¯t make out much more, but their rust-colored skin was evident, as was their alert focus as they stood peering back in his direction, as if expecting trouble.

    Lolling about on the lower ledges below the hobgoblins were a mess of regular goblins. These made no pretense of alertness or discipline. Some wrestled with each other, some slept, others were crouched around small campfires where they seemed to be grilling rats on spits. There were some twenty of them all told, each with a javelin close at hand and a melee weapon at their belt.

    Harald licked his lower lip. He wished he could make out the hobgoblins better. What weapons did they have? They were tiny at this distance. It looked like they¡¯d remain above the fray, giving commands to the goblins from the highest ledge. The goblins would no doubt swarm him while they watched, softening him up.

    Shadowpaw lay beside him, chin resting on its black paws.

    ¡°What do you think?¡± whispered Harald. ¡°Are we outclassed, here?¡±

    The Mastiff pricked its ears as it watched him, but otherwise made no answer.

    ¡°Right.¡± Harald looked back out. The gray light was pretty weak, so that plenty of shadows were gathered around the base of the cliff or pooled in nooks and dells. Perhaps Shadowpaw could slink out and make his way around the edge to flank the goblins?

    Or perhaps Harald was thinking about this all wrong. Just because the enemy was on the cavern¡¯s far side didn¡¯t mean he had to go to them; what if he emerged and called for their attention?

    The hobgoblins would no doubt watch him warily for a bit, then order the goblins forward as they followed behind to engage him.

    Shadowpaw could be in place, hidden somewhere halfway across the cavern. Harald could unleash his Goldchops at the last moment, wrecking havoc on the goblin ranks before they could close. Perhaps even use his Umbral Aegis if too many javelins were falling on him.

    Then, once the Goldchops did their grisly work, he could charge forward just as Shadowpaw attacked the hobgoblins from behind. Hammer and anvil.

    Harald rubbed his chin.

    That¡¯d work as long as no reinforcements emerged from the tunnel.

    Uneasy, excited, and a little jittery, Harald reached out to scritch Shadowpaw¡¯s hide. ¡°You ready? You¡¯re going to creep out there and go as deep as you can along the wall without being seen. When I shout your name, you howl and attack the hobgoblins from behind, all right?¡±

    The Mastiff glanced at him, brows furrowed.

    ¡°The hobgoblins. Those reddish guys in the back. You see them by the tunnel? I¡¯m going to draw everyone toward me. You just stay quiet and hidden till I shout.¡±

    Shadowpaw thumped his tail on the ground.

    ¡°Good. Go ahead then. Don¡¯t let them see you. If they do¡­¡± Harald hesitated. ¡°Then come back and stand with me. We¡¯ll figure it out from there. If things look dangerous, we¡¯ll just retreat.¡±

    Shadowpaw rose and slunk out of the tunnel. Absolutely silent, he drifted down and immediately to the side so that Harald lost sight of him. Resisting the urge to crane his head out and watch the Mastiff¡¯s progress, Harald instead settled in to wait and watch the cliff face where the hound would have to eventually appear.

    He almost missed him. Shadowpaw was little more than a drifting cloud of shadow, hunkered down low so that his haunches and shoulder blades were pronounced, moving fluidly from shadow to outcropping, unhurried, and remarkably hard to notice.

    He¡¯d never ordered the Mastiff to sneak before, Harald realized; this must have triggered some ability of the Servitor that had never come into play before. Even staring right at the hound he had trouble picking him up, and now he remembered how Shadowpaw had trailed him on the 27th, unseen until at last he¡¯d burst out to attack.

    The goblins were like toddlers at a picnic, squabbling and eating and buffeting each other. A few lay sleeping on the grass, but otherwise they paid the environs no mind.

    It was the hobgoblins that Harald watched. Something about the alert, tense manner they remained on guard hinted at their professionalism. Harald squinted at the small group, but they were just too far to read. But as long as they stayed still, it meant his plan was working.

    Minutes passed. Harald lost track of Shadowpaw altogether, but he had to have reached the midway mark by now.

    Time to act.

    ¡°All right.¡± He flexed his hands, unshouldered his pack and set it down against the wall, then took a sip from his water flask. ¡°This won¡¯t be a problem. They¡¯re all practically dead already.¡±

    Harald crawled to the lip of the tunnel. There was a five foot drop to the dead grass below. A small expanse of rock extended to a tiny cliff on the left, smoothed out to a weathered staircase that descended brokenly to the next level down. Broken rocks and boulders were piled up against the cliff walls.

    Harald took one last breath, banishing the jittery feeling, and hopped down onto the grass below. Emerging into the light was weirdly disconcerting; some instinct bid him remain hiding, to not so brazenly expose himself to so many enemies.

    Throat tight, Harald clapped his hands together loudly, rubbed them briskly against each other, then stepped up to the edge of his little rocky platform and cupped them to his mouth.

    ¡°Hey there! You goblins! My name¡¯s Harald Darrowdelve, and I¡¯ve come here in the hopes of killing every last one of you.¡±

    His voice echoed across the expanse, and everyone on the far side immediately took note. Goblins ceased arguing, sleeping, eating, and jostled forward to gape at him, crowding in close.

    The hobgoblins startled and shielded their eyes as if against the glare, peering across the huge cavern at where he stood.

    Harald waved his arm helpfully.

    The hobgoblins barked something at the goblins, who glanced at each other, the snatched up their javelins and began swarming down the irregular ledges and platforms toward him.

    Only for one of the hobbos to yell, and cause them all to slow down and glance back guiltily at him. This time they formed up into a rough group, and with some basic cohesion resumed their approach.

    ¡°Good, good,¡± said Harald. ¡°Come at me.¡±

    Except the hobbos weren¡¯t following the goblins. Instead they¡¯d unslung something from around their bodies and were drawing their arms back.

    Longbows.

    Shit.

    Harald watched, tense, as they loosed.

    Their massive arrows shot into the air, arcing up high and flying toward him with incredible speed. Harald¡¯s eyes widened and he hopped forward to drop to the scree below him. The six arrows hissed overhead and rattled off the rocks.

    If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    Damn. They¡¯d crossed the hundred or so yards in just a couple of seconds. And the six hobgoblins were already loosing their next volley.

    But that just meant he had to keep moving and not give them a static target. Harald hustled across the slope, skipping sideways, Dawnblade appearing in his hand as he kept glancing between the arrows and goblins.

    Another volley flew where he¡¯d been, shattering against the small cliff. The arrows were big, each as long as Harald¡¯s arm, thick as his finger, and with black feathers for fletching. A direct hit from one of those would probably see the arrow punch clear through him.

    The goblins had reached the halfway mark, a long stretch of grass and rocks that then began to rise to where Harald stood. They sprinted forward eagerly, javelins at the ready, shouting and screaming and laughing as they came.

    Harald reversed direction, skipping sideways again as the arrows dropped where he¡¯d been. The hobgoblins were moving forward now, advancing some ten yards each time before loosing another volley.

    Their attacks would only arrive more quickly and be more deadly for it.

    Harald realized he was grinning.

    The goblins rushed up a curving staircase, the shallow, deeply eroded steps easy for them to race up. They kept casting disconcerted glances his way. He didn¡¯t blame them. His actions weren¡¯t exactly making sense.

    Another flight of arrows sped down, and Harald was forced to lunge aside. Damn. They were taking little more than a second now to cross the cavern. The hobgoblins moved with professional skill, keeping abreast of each other, stopping at the same time, drawing and loosing as one.

    They were just shy of the final drop to the halfway stretch.

    The goblins scrambled up the last ledge that put them in range to hurl their javelins. They were grinning nastily, their sharp teeth bright against their green skin, and spread out into a ragged line so that they could all cast at once.

    Harald summoned the Goldchops.

    They appeared on either side of him, bobbing as if floating on rough waters, their golden hatchet heads gleaming.

    The goblins hesitated, cocking their heads and frowning at the weapons, then drew back again to hurl.

    ¡°Get ¡®em,¡± whispered Harald, and broke left just as more clothyard arrows thwipped through where he¡¯d been standing.

    The Goldchops complied, splitting up and flying out wide. For a moment Harald was confused; why weren¡¯t they moving directly toward the goblins?

    He didn¡¯t have time to ponder. The javelins flew his way, a thicket of them darkening the sky, and he dove down the grassy slope, head over heels to slide over the top of a drop, shouting in surprise as he fell, the weapons barely missing him.

    The ground smashed into him, a rock digging into his hip, but he activated Dark Vigor and bounced back to his feet, strength and resiliency flooding into his system.

    The goblins had pivoted, drawn their second javelins back, ready to execute him where he stood, when the Goldchops got to work.

    They¡¯d flown out wide, one on each side of the scraggly line of goblins, and now they came spinning toward each other. The goblins shrieked as the hatchets clove through them in rapid succession, each Goldchop swinging out wide to pursue the fragmenting line as the goblins dove and scattered.

    They couldn¡¯t get away.

    Harald felt a premonition and threw himself aside.

    Clothyard arrows slammed into the grass, shattered against the rock behind where he¡¯d stood.

    The hobgoblins were marching across the center stretch, paces uniform, drawing back on more arrows.

    ¡°Shadowpaw!¡± Harald pitched his voice to carry, and leaving the Goldchops to their butchery, began racing down the steps before him to close with the hobgoblins.

    The Mastiff broke away from an innocuous patch of shadows, huge and fell, and bayed horrifically as it sprinted toward the rear of the hobgoblin formation.

    Harald had to give it to the hobbos. They visibly startled at the sound of the howl, but didn¡¯t break ranks. Instead, their leader braked a command and three of them turned to go back-to-back with the others, forming a tight rectangle.

    Bows still raised, they loosed at a second bark, and this time Harald chose not to dodge.

    It was time to test himself.

    So he pounded right into the flying shafts, Dawnblade trailing behind him, and summoned the Umbral Aegis. Shadows streamed toward him, flowed up his body, hardened into overlapping plates of jagged obsidian. He felt his connection to the abyss become manifest, his cloak trailing behind him like a veil of night, his vision growing tinted by his near-translucent black faceplate, and then the three arrows hit him square in the chest.

    It was like taking a couple of punches, blunt trauma that almost made him lose his footing even as he realized the arrows had failed to harm him. No pain, obviously, but he intuited the condition of the Aegis¡ªthe arrows had fragmented the cuirass, their combined potency enough to almost break through, but instead they bounced off and he let loose a bark of savage laughter.

    One final flight of stairs, a short, steep slope, then a final drop-off before the center stretch.

    Harald dismissed the Aegis, felt the shadows melt away, and summoned instead the Aching Depths. His twin Thrones were like furnaces burning before massive bellows, flames writhing white-hot, and with Dark Vigor lending him wings he sprinted right up to the drop-off and leaped.

    Shadowpaw landed upon the rearmost three hobgoblins. All six had discarded their bows in favor of broad-bladed short swords and large shields.

    Shadowpaw crashed down upon the center shield, knocking the hobbo into the one behind him, and then set to gnashing and clawing at the enemy who stabbed at him in turn.

    Harald sailed through the air, trailing Dark Vigor¡¯s burning flames, and though his Aching Depths washed over the hobgoblins, causing them to bunch together, shields raised, they didn¡¯t break.

    Instead they prepared themselves, their discipline formidable, swords drawn back to stab the moment he hit their raised shield wall.

    Harald let out a cry and swept his abyssal blade before him, unleashing a Demonic Edge from just six feet away as he fell.

    Raw, dark energy coursed through his body and flooded out through his blade. The arc of black power rippled down to cleave through the shields and slam into the hobgoblins, who screamed and fell back in sudden disarray.

    It happened too fast for Harald to track.

    He fell upon their broken rank, cleaving his abyssal blade down at an oblique angle. The center hobbo was badly wounded, his iron chestplate cracked, bright blood welling down his chest, and Harald¡¯s slash took him across his thick neck.

    This close he got a flash of their faces: huge fangs rising from its lantern jaw, hooked noses, large pointed ears pointing back, their skin a leathery, pebbled red, their eyes tiny under heavy brows and burning bright yellow.

    The Dawnblade clove through the hobbo¡¯s neck, and its square head sailed free. The other two were wounded, but had caught only the outer edge of the Demonic Edge; one had lost an arm, its stump blackened by the Edge¡¯s searing unholy energy, the other receiving a deep gash across its ribs.

    The Aching Depths chilled the very air, stole the very resolve from their hearts, made them doubt their ability to fight.

    But they didn¡¯t break. Instead they moved out wide, looking to flank him, but Harald didn¡¯t give them the chance. He threw himself at the first, initiating the Dungeon Square, his long blade hewing down and then around and up. The hobbo staggered back, his parries clumsy; perhaps he was used to fending off blows with his shield, for he moved his stump reflexively, as if unable to understand that both shield and arm were gone.

    Shadowpaw let out a howl and Harald felt him disappear into his Cosmos.

    Harald drove the hobbo before him, cleaving and cutting with frenetic energy, and knocking the broad blade aside he slashed the monster¡¯s face open, blackening its eyes and maw.

    Instinct bid him clothe himself in the Aegis; he summoned the shadows, who whispered over him, hardening into an ebon suit of pure night, and then a mighty blow clove his shoulder as he turned, staggering.

    The hobgoblin¡¯s yellow eyes were wide as his blade bounced off the shadow armor, and then Harald thrust his abyssal blade straight at its face, but missed, the hobbo weaving aside, only for a Goldchop to smash into the side of its head at full speed, bursting his skull like a melon hurled angrily at the sidewalk from the top of a house.

    Blood and brains sprayed after the departing Goldchop which sailed clear through and toward the remaining hobbo, the sole survivor of the three Shadowpaw had assaulted.

    This one rasped out a cry of horror and dove aside. The Goldchop simply dipped, followed it down, and cut through the back of its neck, burying its golden blade inches into the dirt.

    And like that it was over.

    Harald swayed around, surveying the expanse. The goblins lay massacred upon their ledge, a couple having gotten a dozen yards away before being cut down. The second Goldchop flew up, joining its partner, and both moved to take their flanking positions about Harald¡¯s shoulders, the gore sluicing right off them to leave them pristine.

    Harald caught his breath, dismissing the Aegis, and stared at the dead hobbos. They lay strewn about, one with an arm torn clear off by Shadowpaw, his stomach disemboweled. The second had huge puncture wounds in its chest and neck, blood still oozing forth, his piecemeal armor insufficient to stop the Shadow Mastiff¡¯s attack.

    And then, like a benediction, Silver Starbursts arose from their corpses, a handful above each.

    Harald grinned, though it pained him to have lost Shadowpaw. He, however, had come through unscathed. The Goldchops and the Mastiff had more than leveled the playing field, though part of him was curious: with Umbral Aegis and Demonic Edge, could he have taken down the hobgoblins himself?

    He collected the thirty-one Silvers, then made his way back to the goblins and collected their scales, which came out to another fifty-seven. He considered, then dropped twenty Starbursts in his pouch for emergency healing, and absorbed the remaining sixty-eight.

    Scales: 495,357/1,000,000

    He knew that absorbing almost 700 Moons in one go was a huge jump, but it still felt paltry. Grimacing, he scanned the dead bodies, then looked to the far tunnel. He¡¯d need to do this another 500 times to Ascend his third Throne.

    There had to be a better way.

    Something caught his eye.

    Just below the distant tunnel mouth was a box of some kind, dark and banded in metal.

    A chest.

    ¡°Well all right,¡± whispered Harald, and set off at a jog. He crossed the huge oval, made his way up the varied staircases, and slowed only when the circular tunnel mouth yawned hugely above him. It was as massive as his own, edged in great gray slate blocks, its depths impenetrably dark. No doubt it led to the next battlefield.

    Cautious, knowing that nothing would probably emerge, but not willing to discount the probability, Harald made his way over to the chest.

    It was solidly built, the iron bands black, and though latched, it lacked a lock.

    Why by the angels are we standing around chatting when there¡¯s a chest to be opened? Have we gone mad?

    Harald smiled ruefully at the memory, then knelt before the chest and lifted the lid.

    A cloud of coruscating silver hovered within, flashing and scintillating, only for it to coalesce into the form a robust amulet crafted from a single piece of blood-red garnet. It was carved with a stylized visage of a fearsome hobgoblin, with a broad, sneering mouth, deep-set eyes, and high, arching brows.

    An Artifact? Harald took it and turned it over in his hands. The garnet was set in a blackened iron frame inscribed with intricate engravings, and the chain was of heavy, tarnished silver, each link etched with tiny, sharp barbs that made it slightly uncomfortable to hold.

    Artifact Acquired: Amulet of the Hobgoblin King

    Quality: Uncommon

    Special Ability: Command of the Horde

    Activation: While wearing this amulet, gain the ability to speak with an exert influence over goblinoid creatures. Increases charisma and intimidation when dealing with goblinoids. Small chance to rally goblinoid enemies to your cause in battle.

    +6 to Presence w/ goblinoids

    Limitation: Effects only apply to goblinoid species. The amulet''s power may draw unwanted attention from goblinoid leaders who sense their sovereignty challenged.

    ¡°Oh damn,¡± whispered Harald, bouncing the amulet in his palm. His thoughts raced, the possibilities unspooling in his mind.

    Then, still thoughtful, he raised his eyes to the second tunnel entrance, and smiled.

 Chapter 78

    The Amulet of the Hobgoblin King. Harald bounced it in his palm. An Uncommon Artifact, which meant it was worth a Zenith Tide, or 10,000 Copper Moons. On the face of it the amulet seemed more valuable; this kind of sway over goblinoids felt very powerful, but then again, it would only be useful to weaker raiders who couldn¡¯t just obliterate every goblin and hobgoblin in their path.

    But here, now, it felt like a game changer. He¡¯d have to swap out the Dawnblade, which was tough, but he could still use it as a regular weapon, and it should still respond to the Abyssal Attunement.

    And then?

    Harald tongued the inside of his cheek. Shadowpaw was out of the picture for the rest of the night. The real question was did the amulet replace his Mastiff¡¯s power with enough of its own?

    The only way to find out was to test it, which meant entering the tunnel and searching out another war party. If it worked as he hoped, great. If not? Then he¡¯d be fighting the goblins and hobgoblins with just the Goldchops at his back. And while the Goldchops were masterful, they couldn¡¯t compensate for having an Uncommon-ranked Servitor on hand to help ambush and slaughter his enemies.

    Harald studied the garnet amulet. Then again, it was ranked Uncommon, the same as Shadowpaw. Did that mean it was meant to be an equivalent?

    Depended on how he used it.

    He was procrastinating, he realized, and closed his fist about the amulet. Dithering out of uncertainty and fear. Time to make a decision, and obviously he was going to try out its power.

    So thinking he closed his eyes and focused on the Dawnblade. He¡¯d never relinquished an Artifact, but it proved as intuitive and simple as everything else. Holding the sword in his hand, he thought on its connection to his Cosmos, and willed it to sever. And then¡­ it did. He felt his bond with the weapon fade, a feeling of loss, and it became nothing more than green sword in his fist.

    Harald sighed, firming his resolve, and willed himself to bond with the Amulet. Like the Goldchops and Dawnblade, the process was almost disarmingly simple; he felt the Amulet¡¯s essence sink into his Cosmos, and then it was part of him.

    He dismissed it experimentally, then resummoned it. The Amulet appeared around his neck, the garnet face hanging over his chest.

    ¡°Convenient,¡± he whispered, and patted the amulet.

    Time to test it.

    Dawnblade in hand, he made his way up to the exit tunnel and climbed stealthily into its mouth. A dank breeze blew past him, as if the depths of the earth were exhaling, and he activated the lantern clipped to his belt, so that a warm glow illuminated the first ten or so yards.

    And then, considering, he turned it off.

    And moved forward cautiously into the dark.

    The dreary light from behind faded away quickly. Gravel crunched underfoot. The echoes were strange, but he could sense the vastness of the tunnel around him continuing level.

    It turned, the rising slope when he tried to walk straight guiding him back to center, and then the light faded away altogether and he was in darkness.

    Shadow Fortitude blossomed within his breast, and a gradual upwelling of energy and resilience manifested in his being.

    If only he could remain thus, in the dark, forever. He¡¯d be endlessly fueled with stamina.

    Instead, he proceeded slowly, skin prickling, Dawnblade held at the Tower, eyes wide as he stared out at pure nothingness. The darkness swarmed with vague motes of purple and red, but he was confident those were imaginary, projected by his own eyes.

    Silence but for the steady crunch of his feet.

    Heart pounding, head turning occasionally from one side to the other so he could listen, he proceeded along the tunnel¡¯s base, feeling mad, feeling terribly alive, feeling like a conduit for the energy that seeped continuously into his being.

    The air ahead began to lighten. Harald moved with the tunnel¡¯s curvature once more, and when he espied the opening up ahead, he hunched over, then dropped onto all fours to crawl to the exit.

    At first the huge pocket canyon was similar to the first, but quickly differences began to suggest themselves. While towering cliffs encircled it like the first, this time they were of dressed stones, with ruined columns rising up like ribs down their vast length. As if this huge space had once been a gargantuan cathedral. There wasn¡¯t a drop like last time either, just mounds of rubble, as if the collapsed ceiling had been tidied into hills of broken stone, with paths of dirt and the occasional opening appearing between them.

    In the far distance a huge archway of stone rose taller than the walls to frame a smaller portal that led to whatever space came next.

    Entire chunks of this battlefield were hidden from view by the hills of broke masonry. A straight path ran from his tunnel mouth to the exit, and there were goblins in evidence, but no sign of the hobgoblins that had to be present.

    Harald rubbed his jaw pensively. The goblins were present in small clusters at the back of the cavern. Some sat around small campfires, others slept, the same behavior of the bored goblins he¡¯d seen before.

    The fact that they were all held at the back no doubt indicated orders from the hobgoblins who didn¡¯t want them dispersed and vulnerable.

    That meant he could probably get close without being spotted. Could he? Harald scrutinized the pathways between the hills, and saw movement at the top of the closest.

    Two goblin sentries. They crouched in the shadows of small overhang, and seemed intent on a game of dice.

    Which meant there were no doubt more sentries posted atop each hill.

    This was an opportunity. If Harald could get close enough to talk to them, perhaps he could sway them to his side before they could raise the alarm.

    That¡¯s when he would learn how effective the amulet was.

    Harald watched the pair of goblins carefully. They¡¯d occasionally glance his way, but his being still and hidden deeper within the tunnel meant they hadn¡¯t seen him yet. The game they were playing seemed simple, each goblin taking a turn to throw the dice, and involved much arguing and passing small tokens back and forth depending on what they rolled.

    Neither seemed to be a good loser.

    Finally, his patience paid off; one exclaimed angrily as the other scooped up some tokens, the other remonstrated, and then suddenly they were exchanging blows.

    Not giving himself time to think, Harald slid down over the tunnel¡¯s lip to the rocky floor, and darted behind a nearby boulder.

    He sank down out of sight, pulse pounding in his ears. No alarm was raised. After a few moments, he carefully glanced around the side of the rock.

    The goblins were no longer playing, but now sat with their backs to each other, arms crossed, eyes closed.

    Perfect.

    Harald picked his path carefully. Almost he triggered Aching Depths for the silencing effect, but the dimming of the light might draw attention.

    Instead, he darted from one pile to another, and then reached the base of the rubble hill.

    How close did he have to be for his amulet to take effect? Would his Presence bonus just carry with his voice? He didn¡¯t want to risk it, so, taking great pains, scaled the hill, placing each foot cautiously so as to not disturb the rocks or send any rolling. ;Yard by careful yard he ascended, coming up just below the goblins and to one side, till at last he didn¡¯t think he could get any closer without alerting them.

    Time to roll his own dice.

    ¡°Hey,¡± he whispered. ¡°My friends! I¡¯ve, ah, come to tell you the truth!¡±

    Two goblin heads immediately appeared over just above, their yellow eyes narrowed suspiciously, ears drawn back. Before they could react negatively, Harald pressed on: ¡°The hobgoblins have been stealing from you. Help me and I¡¯ll make you rich!¡±

    When in doubt, appeal to greed.

    Both goblins stilled, then glanced at each other.

    Had the Amulet worked? Had they understood him?

    ¡°How¡¯s that?¡± The one on the left with an impressively angular nose studied his suspiciously. ¡°Stealin¡¯?¡±

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

    ¡°Of course!¡± Harald adopted an expression of mock outrage. ¡°Why do you think they have such better gear? Why do you eat the worst scraps while they feast on the best? It¡¯s not fair. They¡¯re taking advantage of you.¡±

    ¡°They do have better gear,¡± muttered the one on the right, whose ears were impressively large. ¡°And they always eat the best bits of whatever we kill.¡±

    ¡°We should kill this one, is what we should do,¡± replied the first. ¡°If we kill him quiet, like, we can eat most of him before anyone else finds out.¡±

    ¡°If you let me help you,¡± said Harald, ¡°you¡¯ll eat as much as you want without anyone ever stopping you again.¡±

    They both stared at him suspiciously again. ¡°And how would you make that work?¡±

    The fact that they were even talking was a miracle.

    ¡°Look. You goblins need to rule yourselves. Or perhaps you both could rule instead of the hobgoblins?  Picture it. Two thrones, and everyone bringing you food and¡­ gold? To pile it up before you.¡±

    ¡°Hmm,¡± said the one with big ears dreamily.

    ¡°You didn¡¯t answer the question,¡± persisted the big nosed one. ¡°How we gonna make that happen?¡±

    Harald tapped his temple. ¡°But using our sharper wits. They¡¯re big and brutish and they think they¡¯re smart, but you two are cunning. You could run rings around them, right? So what we do is get all the goblins on your side, and then we trick the hobgoblins and kill them off. You get their gear and become kings, and everybody¡­ will just think you¡¯re the best for freeing them.¡±

    They glanced at each other again.

    ¡°I¡¯d like to be a king,¡± said Big ears.

    ¡°We could eat the hobgoblins,¡± suggested Big Nose reluctantly, then when his friend opened his eyes wide, he said it again as if it were a brilliant idea. ¡°We could eat the hobgoblins!¡±

    ¡°All you need do is bring a couple of your friends to come talk with me at a time,¡± said Harald. ¡°Not too many, because they might get too excited by this great idea. Just one or two. I¡¯ll talk to them, explain how you deserve to be kings, and when we¡¯ve got everyone on our side, we¡¯ll come up with a plan and smash them.¡±

    ¡°Burst their guts!¡± said Big Ears excitedly.

    ¡°Crack open their bones!¡± said Big Nose.

    ¡°Er, yes,¡± agreed Harald. ¡°Let¡¯s creep down, and then I¡¯ll wait for you to bring me some of your friends.¡±

    ¡°All right, sure,¡± said Big Ears, and scrambled over the side to make his way down. ¡°Hobgoblins are a rare delicacy, you know, on account of their being so hard to get a bite out of. I¡¯ve never had any, but Morty, a friend of mine, he did once, he and his mates came across a dead hob, killed by an orc he says, though if you ask me it was a bit too convenient, and Morty, he says the hob tasted like horsemeat.¡±

    Big Nose made his way down after him. ¡°Morty¡¯s never even seen a horse.¡±

    ¡°Has too, but even if he hasn¡¯t, everyone knows horses are tasty, and the point is, hob is good eating, though I imagine you¡¯d need to roast one for a few hours, slow cook, on account of their muscles being so tough, you¡¯d probably want to dig a pit, fill it with hot stones, see, then bury the hob in their with, I don¡¯t know, tasty things, let it roast for a day, then ooh, can you imagine the smell when you dig him out?¡±

    Their little trio had been making their way down but at this both goblins paused to stare soulfully at each other, throats working.

    ¡°The smell would be something special,¡± said Big Ears.

    ¡°And imagine it were just you,¡± whispered Big Nose. ¡°And you opened up that pit and it was like soup in their, hob meat soup, all hot and bubbling with crispy fat, and then, I mean, you could just jump in¡­¡±

    ¡°Swim in hob soup! Swim in hob soup!¡±

    ¡°Shh,¡± whispered Harald, alarmed. Their voices had risen in volume from sheer excitement. ¡°We¡¯ll not be swimming in hob soup if they find out what we¡¯re up to.¡±

    Both goblins ducked their heads guiltily, and they resumed climbing down in silence.

    ¡°All right,¡± said Harald, peering around a large rock sticking out of the side of the hill. ¡°I¡¯ll wait here. Head on up to the sentries over there, and bring them to me.¡±

    ¡°I was about to suggest that,¡± sniffed Big Nose. ¡°Let¡¯s go, Gurty.¡±

    The pair scampered off excitedly.

    Harald ducked back down, trying not to regret the plan he¡¯d set in moment. Nothing happened for awhile, and then he heard a babble of voices coming his way, all of them excited.

    Damn.

    Gurty and Big Nose must have messed up, and now the other goblins were coming in for the kill.

    Harald rippled his fingers on the Dawnblade¡¯s hilt. Should he summon the Goldchops? Not yet. He¡¯d wait till the last moment for the element of surprise, and then -

    ¡°Hey, stranger! We brought all our friends!¡±

    Harald froze. That sounded like Big Nose. Carefully, skin itching, he peered around the rock again.

    Big Nose and Gurty beamed proudly at him from the front of a pack of a dozen goblins, all of whom were glaring suspiciously at him, weapons at the ready.

    ¡°What¡¯re we doin¡¯?¡± asked a female goblin, her face painted red. ¡°We should be killing him right now.¡±

    The crowd obviously agreed with her, with several goblins raising their javelins.

    ¡°No, no no no,¡± said Big Nose, turning and raising his hand. ¡°He done promised us hob soup!¡±

    Gurty nodded vigorously. ¡°As much hob soup as we can swim in, right stranger?¡±

    ¡°I¡ªyes.¡± Harald tried to banish the surreal feeling and sound confident. ¡°Don¡¯t you love hob soup? Steaming hot, and¡ªuh¡ªfull of hob¡­ meat?¡±

    The other goblins all nodded suspiciously.

    ¡°He said fat crackling and crispy skin,¡± added Big Nose. ¡°And gooey bits as far as the eye can see. We just gotta kill the hobs and then we¡¯re set.¡±

    Harald resisted the urge to hold up the amulet. Surely the fact that the new goblins hadn¡¯t screeched and hurled the javelins was due to its influence? ¡°Hob soup swimming holes,¡± said Harald. ¡°Hob soup waterfalls?¡±

    ¡°Oooh,¡± breathed the goblins, eyes going wide.

    ¡°Hob soup¡­ bathubs.¡± This seemed to be working far better than reasoning with them. ¡°This whole place, all of it, filled to the top of the cliffs with steaming hob soup?¡±

    ¡°Aah,¡± breathed the goblins, till the red faced female frowned. ¡°How many hobs would that take?¡±

    ¡°All of them,¡± said Big Nose confidently. ¡°We just gotta follow this human¡¯s plan. What¡¯s the plan, human?¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± said Gurty. ¡°What¡¯s the plan?¡±

    Everyone stared at him expectantly.

    ¡°We need to get the rest of your friends on our side,¡± said Harald hesitantly.

    ¡°Nah,¡± said Big Nose. ¡°We pull them all away, the hobs¡¯ll get suspicious. Fuck ¡®em, we¡¯ll eat them too.¡±

    The other goblins glanced at each other, as if testing this idea out.

    ¡°Hobgob soup!¡± shouted Gurty, delirious with excitement.

    ¡°Hobgob soup!¡± They all grinned and a few shook each other from the sheer thrill of it.

    ¡°So here¡¯s the plan,¡± said Harald. ¡°You all go back to your posts. I¡¯ll sneak in and hide. Then, Gurty, you yell at the top of your voice, ¡®Humans!¡¯ and start throwing your javelins toward the tunnel.¡±

    ¡°Oh, more strangers coming?¡± asked Gurty.

    ¡°No, that¡¯s fake,¡± said Harald. ¡°It¡¯s just me. You¡¯re just pretending.¡±

    ¡°Why am I pretending there¡¯s more humans?¡± asked Gurty, perplexed.

    Big Nose smacked the back of his head. ¡°It¡¯s his plan, innit?¡±

    ¡°You shout that, and everyone runs up to help kill the fake humans,¡± continued Harald, wondering if he was asking too much. ¡°Then I¡¯ll leap out from behind and attack the hobs. When you see that, you help me attack them, and when they¡¯re dead, we all make hobgob soup.¡±

    Gurty frowned, confused.

    Big Nose stuck his thumb in his chest. ¡°You all just do as I do. When I shout ¡®invaders¡¯, just do what the hobs told us to do, all right?¡±

    Everyone nodded uncertainly.

    ¡°Remember,¡± Harald whispered. ¡°All the hobgob soup you could dream of.¡±

    Everyone perked back up.

    ¡°I¡¯m going to go hide. Wait till you can¡¯t see me, then give the shout. Clear?¡±

    ¡°Clear,¡± said Big Nose confidently. ¡°Leave it to me, Higgup your new goblin king.¡±

    ¡°Great.¡± There was no going back now. ¡°All right, everyone back to your posts. I¡¯ll go hide. We¡¯ll do this very soon.¡±

    The goblins all nodded eagerly, except for the red faced female who stared at Harald suspiciously before scampering of with the others.

    Higgup began to climb, with Gurty singing softly as he followed right behind:

    ¡°Hobgob soup for you and me,

    Meaty meat from the goblin tree,

    Bubbling bursts and stinky stew,

    Hobgob soup for me and you.¡±

    Harald watched them go for a moment and tried envisioning his recounting this tale to his friends.

    They¡¯d only stare at him.

    Uneasy yet hopeful, he jogged deeper into the cavern, waving back covertly at sentries who¡¯d just resumed their posts, finger going to his lips whenever any of them cupped their hands to their mouths to yell something down at him.

    He needed a good hiding spot. A crack or a small cave, perhaps¡ª

    ¡°Fake strangers!¡± screamed Gurty, sounding horribly excited. ¡°Humans! Hobgob soup!¡±

    Harald winced.

    All the other sentries immediately took up the cry and began shouting as loudly as they could.

    ¡°Humans!¡±

    ¡°Soup!¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re been attacked!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m dying! I¡¯m dying!¡±

    ¡°Fuck.¡± Harald stared around at the tops of the closest hills. The goblins were leaping about, some banging pans with spoons, others waving their weapons exuberantly. The closest pair grinned at him, and one winked slyly.

    Harald darted toward the side of the cavern. The hobbos would no doubt be horribly confused by this sudden and abrupt clamor that had descended on all the sentries at once. Being smart and disciplined, they¡¯d not just come rushing out to the fore.

    Harald leaped over some fallen rocks, coming close to the huge wall, and then curved around the base of a last hill, climbing up its slope some where it flowed flush against the wall.

    They¡¯d no doubt emerge cautiously, confused and suspicious. They¡¯d probably send the loyal goblins out to see what was going on, and only advance slowly as they waited a report.

    The loyal goblins would talk to the corrupted ones, and¡­? Harald couldn¡¯t guess. Would the idea of hobgob soup be enough to recruit them to their side? Would they run back to the hobgoblins out of fear of being punished?

    There wasn¡¯t time to find out.

    Harald worked his way into the cavern while hugging the wall. The going was rough, as clearly the dungeon had wanted him to follow the central approach, but he persisted, trying to marry speed with caution.

    The sentries had settled into a repetitive chant, all of them yelling out happily at the same time: ¡°Hu-mans, soup! Hu-mans, soup!¡±

    It probably made sense to them.

    Maybe.

    Harald made it past the halfway point and began to slow down. He put the goblins out of his mind. They were just going to cause chaos no matter what, now; he needed to focus on the only threat that mattered, and to do so, he needed to ensure the element of surprise.

    There were three more hills set flush against the cathedral walls that curved toward the distant exit. The hobbos could be waiting past any of them. So Harald treated each remaining hill as if it were the last, creeping and climbing carefully, following ledges and walking on larger boulders when he could, and wincing as he dislodged rocks or pebbles.

    He surmounted the first, saw nothing below, took a moment to watch the central approach incase the hobbos marched into view, then quickly made his way down, leaped the last few yards, and hurried to the second hill. This one was massive and partially built from huge gray slabs of stone that looked to have been part of the cathedral ceiling. Angular and geometric, it was far easier to climb, but the sight of an alert and curious goblin at the top shielding her eyes as she stared off toward her yelling fellows made it so that he crept only around the base, not daring to get her attention.

    Luckily the repeated shouts of ¡®soup¡¯ were far more interesting to her than any scuffling sounds he might make.

    Hardly daring to breath, Harald made his way around the hill, a large rock blocking his sight of the sentry, and when the moment was opportune, carefully leaned out to gaze into the next valley below.

    Seven hobgoblins had moved to the far side of the hill, as close to the central avenue as they could get without revealing themselves. Two of them were arguing with each other, while the other five had bows drawn and arrows nocked.

    They looked to be waiting for some manner of report.

    In the far distance the chanting had grown ecstatic and barely intelligible. Mostly it just sounded like the goblins were screaming ¡®soup¡¯ in every drawn out cries, as if seeing who could put the most emotion into the word.

    Harald bit his lower lip, considered, and saw that the hobgoblins had pressed in just below a ledge that jutted out some fifteen feet above them.

    The plan came to Harald fully formed.

    He just had to get to that ledge unnoticed.

 Chapter 79

    The hobgoblins never had a chance.

    It took no small amount of effort and fortune to reach the ledge, but by being patient and scrupulously attentive to where he stepped Harald was able to negotiate the rocky slopes and finally slide out onto the smooth rock. He could just make out the hobgoblins talking gruffly amongst each other below. With the aid of the amulet, he could even make out what they were saying.

    But he didn¡¯t want to know.

    On some perverse level, it was easier to slaughter them without allowing them to become more than faceless foes. Distinguishing personalities, concerns, names even, would only make this harder.

    So Harald inched to the lip of the ledge, just out of sight of the monsters below, and summoned his Goldchops.

    They appeared beside him, their heads fat and wickedly sharp, bobbing as ever as if on invisible currents.

    Harald didn¡¯t even need to speak. He just willed them to get to work, and over the edge of the rocky outcropping they flew, spinning as they hurled themselves at the hobgoblins.

    It wasn¡¯t even remotely fair.

    The shouts of alarm became hoarse, guttural cries of panic punctuated by wet, meaty sounds.

    Harald peered over the edge.

    The Goldchops were just going around and around, cleaving and killing with abandon.

    To their credit the hobbos had immediately fallen into some semblance of a shield wall, their discipline overcoming their fear, but it was pointless. The Goldchops just came at them from behind, and in quick order all but their leader had fallen, their blood bright and pouring out over the dry, thirsty gravel.

    Harald willed the Goldchops to stop.

    It felt too easy to just let them do all the work.

    So he activated Dark Vigor, and as the translucent gray flames played across his body, he swung himself over the edge and dropped to fall before the hobgoblin leader, sinking into a deep crouch.

    The hobbo stood trembling, his lantern jaw jutting out obstinately, his large pointed ears pointing straight back and flush with his skull. He was large, bulky, and clad in ruined black armor that he¡¯d clearly salvaged from a fallen foe. Paldrons, chest plate, gauntlets, and a chainmail skirt that fell to his knees. But the armor was dented, and a suggestive hole through the cuirass was right over his heart.

    Harald rose slowly to standing, feeling alive, feeling so terribly alive, Dark Vigor and the Gold Chops infusing him with strength and vitality. The Depths of the Aching Void fell upon the hobbo captain, causing the monster to step back in dismay. He raised the Dawnblade just as the hobbo leader went to speak, but the monster stilled as Harald activated Abyssal Attunement, causing a flood of liquid blackness to wash up the sword and turn it into a fragment torn from the heart of the abyss itself.

    ¡°You¡¯re the cause of the soup shouting,¡± said the hobbo, as if the final piece had fallen into place. ¡°That amulet. I feel its power.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m the cause of the soup shouting,¡± agreed Harald. ¡°I¡¯m here to kill you.¡±

    The hobbo worked his lower jaw from side to side, tongue visible behind the ragged fence of protruding fangs. ¡°Why you stop the axes? Coulda killed me already.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve just acquired new powers. I want to test them on you.¡±

    The hobbo grinned as he hunched his shoulders. ¡°You just like me, then. Enjoy playing with your food.¡±

    Harald made a face. ¡°I¡¯m not going to eat you.¡±

    ¡°Not my flesh, no. But my spirit.¡±

    Harald¡¯s expression of disgust became more pronounced. ¡°No, not eating that either.¡±

    ¡°It is the way of the dungeon.¡± The hobbo raised his weapon, a serrated sword, and drew a second from between his shoulder blades. ¡°All we kill surrenders spirit to be eaten. It is the way.¡±

    ¡°Do you mean the scales?¡±

    The hobbo captain was clearly preparing to attack. He slowly assumed a deeper stance, twin swords at the ready. ¡°It¡¯s why you kill us.¡±

    Harald hesitated. ¡°But you¡¯re here to be killed.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± grinned the hobbo. ¡°Doesn¡¯t mean we like it.¡±

    ¡°Wait,¡± said Harald, rising slightly from his fighting stance. ¡°You know you¡¯re here to be killed? Were you¡­ born here?¡±

    ¡°Ironok was born in village of Ironvokol, in the Iron Range,¡± said the hobbo, clearly suspicious of this continued conversation.

    ¡°Then how did you get here?¡±

    The hobbo shrugged one massive shoulder. ¡°Appeared here. Pulled by dungeon.¡±

    ¡°Oh. So the Fallen Angel¡­ plucked you from Ironvokol, and set you here to wait for raiders?¡±

    The hobgoblin¡¯s heavy brow lowered. ¡°No. I am an Ironok, not the Ironok.¡±

    ¡°There are lots of Ironoks?¡±

    The hobgoblin spat. ¡°Ironok is eternal while dungeon lasts. Kill me now, and I shall return and have my revenge!¡±

    And with that the hobgoblin rushed at him, sweeping both blades around in glittering arcs.

    Harald, standing upright, was too nonplussed to even consider parrying. He just waved his blade at the monster and unleashed a Demonic Edge. Terrible power flowed from inside him to burst forth from his abyssal blade, the arc of black energy crashing into Ironok¡¯s midsection just below the edge of his cuirass. The blow was a terrible one, and at close range; Ironok barked out a cry of pain as he was nearly cleaved in half, and crashed to the ground at Harald¡¯s feet.

    ¡°Feast,¡± gurgled the dying captain, eyelids fluttering even as he grinned. ¡°Ironok return¡­ hunt you¡­ down¡­¡±

    Then he died.

    A moment later four Silver Starbursts appeared over the corpse.

    ¡°Huh,¡± said Harald, confused and mystified both. Reflexively he collected the scales, but this time he inspected each one, though he didn¡¯t know what he sought. There was nothing untoward about the Silvers. He placed them in his pouch, and walked around the massacred hobbos, collecting twenty-five more.

    An Ironok, not the Ironok. Sam would probably know what that meant, or Nessa. But right now, it was both fascinating and disturbing. The mindless monsters of the first twelve levels had been so simple in comparison, but now that he was killing intelligent monsters¡­ there was clearly more going on here than he understood.

    He stood lost in thought till the goblins came rushing around the corner, weapons drawn, shoving and pushing at each other.

    For a moment Harald thought they were attacking him, but then he checked himself; they swarmed upon the hobgoblin corpses and set to cutting away armor, slashing open their clothing, eager to get at the meat.

    ¡°Hobgob soup!¡±

    ¡°Crackling skin!¡±

    ¡°Make a fire, we need a fire!¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s my foot! I want that foot!¡±

    Harald backed away.

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    He could vaguely sense an opportunity here. He could assert his authority, wade in there, bash some heads, and take control. Allow them to eat, then make some spurious claims of greater feasting in the next room. Lead this pack of some twenty or so goblins into the next chamber, and slowly set about amassing a warband with which to conquer the entirety of the 14th Level.

    But he didn¡¯t want to.

    Not only were the goblins unreliable and utterly chaotic, but watching them turn the hobgoblins into blood and raw meat was nauseating.

    No. He preferred to hunt along, to rely only upon his Abilities and wits, on Servitors like Shadowpaw and his Artifacts.

    That and watching Ironok¡¯s corpse be savaged was a step too far. Harald faded back into the shadows of the rocky slope, and crept away, trying to decide what to do next.

    Leaving the goblins behind, he made his way toward the back of the huge chamber where another massive tunnel led to no doubt a third band of goblins and hobbos. Another battlefield, different from the first two in particulars but overall the same.

    Fatigue washed over him as he found a sheltered nook in which to crouch. The pale, gray light here kept Shadow Fortitude from invigorating him, and something about his conversation with Ironok had thrown him off his bloody-minded hunt.

    He¡¯d always assumed the monsters in the dungeon were creations of the Fallen Angel. The Seraphite doctrine was that the intensity of divinity gave rise to them in an act of spontaneous conception; just like sufficient heat caused fire, sufficient divinity caused monsters.

    A memory returned to him, when he was a little boy and had weekly lessons with Seraphite Japhina.

    But why are the monsters bad? He¡¯d asked.

    Her smile had been tender. Why do you think they are bad?

    They try to kill raiders, don¡¯t they?

    They do. Why is that a bad thing?

    That had utterly mystified little Harald. Because raiders don¡¯t want to die?

    Then why do they go into the Fallen Angel?

    To get¡­ scales? To become powerful?

    Then, in a way, the monsters are just fulfilling their role, aren¡¯t they? Do we call a bear mother ¡®bad¡¯ for defending her cubs?

    No?

    Then if something is simply fulfilling their function, they aren¡¯t bad, they¡¯re¡­?

    Natural?

    Good boy. Monsters are the Angel¡¯s trial for all who seek divinity. Those who would win her favor and rise in her esteem must earn it by passing her trials. Every monster in the dungeon, from the lowest rat to the greatest demon, is just a manifestation of the Angel¡¯s love for us all, her generous way of allowing us to earn her approval.

    That hadn¡¯t sat right with little Harald, and it still didn¡¯t quite ring true today. There were entire schools of thought dedicated to this matter, academic and theological treatises that Harald had scrupulously avoided due to how boring it had all seemed, but now he wished he¡¯d paid more attention.

    Not the Ironok, but an Ironok.

    Like a reflection, perhaps, of the original hobgoblin from Ironvokol?

    A self-aware reflection? The hobbo had seemed intent on returning from the dead to exact his vengeance.

    Would the Fallen Angel restore Ironok to life, then, after Harald left? Much like how pieces would be returned to the chess board after a game¡¯s conclusion?

    But then why were the upper levels becoming depopulated? It was common knowledge that the number of monsters had been dropping, making it harder and harder for young raiders to level up against appropriate foes.

    Harald raked his fingers through his hair.

    Mystery upon mystery.

    He exhaled and looked around. He¡¯d not had a satisfying test of his new Abilities, though that was his fault. He¡¯d leaned too heavily on the Goldchops. The smart move, but it meant he¡¯d not really been forced to rely on his new powers for survival.

    He could go into another room, and try to fight three hobgoblins at once, make sure they were ready for him.

    But the bloodlust had left him. Perhaps it was time to return to the portal and head home. Report his new findings and accomplishments to his friends and see if they could answer his questions.

    Harald rose and began making his way back to the entrance.

    Only to have a portal appear to one side, an oval of black fire shot through with purple light, dark and malevolent and oppressive.

    Harald flinched.

    Vorakhar.

    A summoning? Why now? Had the demon been watching his progress, and only stepped in when Harald had resolved to depart?

    Harald glanced around, then rubbed at his jaw. The matter with House Thornvale was still outstanding. But if Vorakhar decided to drop him in another deep level again¡­

    Still. He couldn¡¯t exactly refuse, could he?

    Harald propped the Dawnblade on his shoulder and stepped through.

    The darkness claimed him, and he felt himself flit through the void, transferring immediately to Vorakhar¡¯s chambers. He stepped out into the same slate cavern, replete with its waterfall pluming down from a rent in the ragged ceiling, the circular fire-pit, the elegant furniture and all.

    The change from the ruined masonry and wan light of the 14th Level was bracing; gone were the distant screams of the goblins, the sense of vast collapse and dusty chaos. Here all was a sophisticated balance between the raw beauty of a natural cavern and the refined taste of exquisite furnishings.

    Vorakhar sat in one of the opulent chairs, its frame made of gilded wood, the velvet upholstery lavish. One ankle rested across the other knee, and he wore, as always, a richly tailored suit that did nothing to civilize the predatory gleam in his black eyes.

    Come, Harald. Sit. Take a refreshment without incurring any obligation.

    The demon was in a good mood. Harald resisted the urge to glance around, and instead moved to the chair across from the small lacquered table between them. He sat, aware that he was no doubt staining the fabric, but realizing that was a stupid thing to be worried about.

    Vorakhar tilted his head to one side. You¡¯re doing well, Harald. Third Level. How does it feel?

    Harald didn¡¯t want to give the demon the satisfaction. ¡°Fine, I guess.¡±

    Vorakhar¡¯s amusement was obvious. Don¡¯t play coy. I was watching your handiwork on the 13th and 14th Level. Were you not reveling in your power?

    And just like that Harald felt ashamed of that glorious bloodlust. ¡°It went to my head, sure.¡±

    Ah, said the demon after considering him. You distance yourself from the gratification. Like a drunkard apologizing for his behavior the night before.

    Harald fought to not hunch his shoulders. ¡°What do you want, Vorakhar?¡±

    I have conferred with Silenthros, and have news. But before we speak of such¡­ The demon¡¯s eyes gleamed. You mortals are fascinating. You change until you die of it, but too much, too soon, and you recoil like a hermit crab into its shell. Is this not what you desired? Power? The ability to slay all that opposed you?

    Harald shifted in his seat. ¡°Yes.¡±

    You have done nothing wrong, Harald. You have merely exerted yourself, and enjoyed the exertion. You have slain that which was designed for slaughter, and benefitted accordingly. Why are you now so recalcitrant?

    ¡°Designed for slaughter. Interesting you should say that. I was having a chat with a hobgoblin on the 14th. He said he was ¡®an Ironos, but not the Ironos.¡¯ What did he mean?¡±

    The demon tapped his chin with one clawed finger. A neat diversion. But I¡¯ll play along as a gesture of goodwill. All denizens of the dungeon are modeled after entities that lived when the Angel fell. Each is imprinted upon her aetherial consciousness, and endlessly recalled to do battle long after their original selves perished in the world. Well. Almost all of them have died. This Ironos once walked the surface world as you do, but he died long ago; his scale-shade persists, however, in a petty form of immortality.

    Harald nodded slowly. ¡°A scale-shade. Is that what you are?¡±

    Vorakhar let loose a bark of laughter. Were I other than your fond patron I might strike you down for such a slight! No, little human, I am no scale-shade. I am far, far more, and soon, if all proceeds according to plan, I shall be even more than that. But now, back to you. Have I not gifted you with all you desire?

    Harald tongued the inside of his cheek.

    I bestowed new life upon you, called forth your very best self, endowed you with an engine of superlative growth, and even aided you in acquiring a wondrous class. What more need I do, Harald, to earn your trust?

    ¡°Well, seeing as you¡¯re a demon, I don¡¯t think you¡¯ll ever have that.¡±

    Vorakhar smiled. Plainly spoken. But the day will come when you must declare allegiance, I mean not to some petty human lordling in Flutic. You are my creature in all but heart, and have come to me for aid against House Thornvale and Silenthros¡¯ machinations. You understand that you cannot continue to suckle at my teat without one day accepting that you are mine?

    Harald grimaced, but had no answer.

    Vorakhar leaned forward. All that you have received, Harald, has come at my behest. Do you think Artifacts and Servitors rain down upon all raiders in equal measure? Do you think your physical self has blossomed in such manner due to your diligent training alone? All that you are, all that you have achieved, you have done so with my blessing. Better yet, I have seen you enjoy the fruits of our friendship. The Harald who hunted on goblins and hobgoblins seemed cut from the same cloth as myself. You have in you the makings of royalty, Harald. Your dreams are yours for the taking, but it is I that have enabled them.

    ¡°I¡¯ll ask again,¡± said Harald, voice hard. ¡°What do you want?¡±

    Gratitude seems too high a request, it seems. Vorakhar sank back into his chair, completely at ease. Perhaps then I¡¯ll settle for honesty. Be honest with yourself, Harald, and not only when you¡¯re cleaving goblins in twain. When you gaze into the mirror, see yourself for what you really are. You¡¯ve done an admirable job of casting aside your former lies and illusions, but still you cling to the most pernicious of them all.

    Harald¡¯s heart was pounding. ¡°And which lie is that?¡±

    Vorakhar¡¯s smile was wicked. To voice it would only give it power. You know it in your heart. One day you shall confess it to me, confess it with a laugh that shall warm my wicked heart, and then we truly will be of one purpose, one mind, and seize all that there is to be seized, together.

    ¡°Honesty,¡± said Harald. ¡°That¡¯s all you want.¡±

    Nothing more. But save your self-righteous rebukes and timid denials. I¡¯ve no stomach for petulance. Let us turn instead to your immediate future.

    ¡°House Thornvale.¡±

    I met with my dear brother, and he was most amused to learn that his playthings in Flutic had sought to meddle in my affairs. Alas, he is currently at an advantage over me, and thus I could not simply make demands. Instead, we reached an agreement. A means for you to free yourself of House Thornvale¡¯s greed and remain your own man forevermore.

    ¡°And what will that require?¡±

    Only a little death, and one, I imagine, that you will have no problem bestowing. You see, Thracos of House Thornvale is your mirror; he carries a Demon Seed of his own, and thus has become a rising star. Alas, he is more advanced than you in every way, which is why Silenthros agreed to my proposition: that you both enter the dungeon at an agreed upon Level, and there hunt each other till only one remains standing.

    Vorakhar smiled, showing his fangs. To remain free you need but slay Thracos, dear Harald. Nothing more, nothing less.

 Chapter 80

    Harald gaped. ¡°Slay Thracos? The man is a Silver-ranked raider!¡±

    Vorakhar canted his head to one side. And?

    Harald raked his fingers through his hair. ¡°You already agreed to this?¡±

    The demon¡¯s silence was answer enough.

    ¡°And in one month?¡± The cavern seemed to press in on Harald, so that he leaped from the chair to begin to pace. ¡°I¡¯m already dueling Yeoric in a month. Now I have to fight Thracos as well?¡±

    You sound displeased, said Vorakhar. I thought you wished to be free of House Thornvale¡¯s machinations.

    Harald glared at the smirking demon. ¡°Not if freedom meant my death.¡±

    And you¡¯re guaranteed to die?

    ¡°I just reached Level 3.¡± Harald felt at once as if he were speaking with a child and a jailor. ¡°Thracos is, what? Level¡­?¡±

    7.

    ¡°Seven!¡± Harald stared at the demon, waiting for understanding to bloom in his black eyes, but it never came. ¡°Wait. Are you planning to give me some Artifact, or¡­?¡±

    I am forbidden from assisting you in any manner from now till the duel¡¯s conclusion. Per the terms of agreement, which also, may I add, bind Silenthros.

    ¡°So then¡­? I¡¯m to fight a Level 7 Silver-ranked raider with a Demon Seed of his own in a month?¡±

    Silenthros has perversely allowed that you and Thracos determine the hour.

    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s fine then. I¡¯ll simply schedule it for twenty years from now.¡±

    Vorakhar¡¯s eyes grew heavy-lidded. He added the proviso that if the duel is not timely, then he take a more direct hand.

    Harald tried to process this. ¡°Do you not mind my dying?¡±

    I¡¯m wagering that you will win.

    ¡°It¡¯s a poor wager, then, if you think I can¡ªoh. The Goldchops?¡±

    They¡¯ll no doubt come in useful. Though Thracos no doubt has toys of his own. And if he learns of your Artifact, he may move to neutralize it.

    ¡°How could he learn - oh. Wait. The Shuddering.¡± Harald had used the Goldchops before a large crowd in his effort to stem the tide. The guards employed by the Mining Consortium had no doubt taken note. ¡°Damn it.¡±

    They remained thus in silence for a moment, Harald pinching the bridge of his nose, Vorakhar complacent.

    ¡°You obviously think this will goad me to greater heights.¡±

    The demon lay a forefinger along the seam of his lips, eyebrows raised expectantly.

    ¡°Fuck. Level 7. Can you tell me anything about Thracos? His Artifacts, his Abilities¡­?¡±

    Pay attention, Harald. I cannot assist you further till the duel is concluded.

    ¡°Fine. I¡¯m sure someone knows.¡± Harald fought to remain calm, but only his outrageous Ego allowed him to weather the storm of emotions buffeting at his mind. His heart was racing, sweat prickling across his brow, his gut clenched as if in anticipation of a blow. It took effort to keep his breath regular, and though his body was clearly clenched by extreme anxiety, his mind remained detached, calm, clear.

    Level 7, and with a Demon Seed of his own.

    Vorakhar had to have confidence in his ability to win through. He¡¯d not throw away a promising asset idly. Or was it that he had no choice against his elder sibling? Should Harald appeal to Eclavistra for aid? Almost he went to taunt Vorakhar, to throw her name in his face as someone he could turn to, but at the last he bit back the urge.

    No. Best he kept that a secret for now.

    You are distressed, said Vorakhar. Your life is threatened, and you feel your mortality keenly. You do not wish to die. So there remains only one option to you.

    ¡°To get strong,¡± whispered Harald.

    Just so. You have perhaps a month or two¡¯s worth of days and nights in which to pursue power in the dungeon. Your companions can assist you, but if they hold you back, you shall die. You must cast off your shackles, Harald. You must embrace the Demon Seed, or you will surely perish.

    ¡°That¡¯s your plan. That was your plan all along.¡± Now it was Harald¡¯s turn to smile bitterly. ¡°To force me to lean on the Seed even more.¡±

    Vorakhar spread his hands and smiled disarmingly. You impugn my good nature, Harald. Is it so hard to believe that I¡¯m simply doing my best by you?

    Harald snorted. ¡°Fine. So I need to negotiate with Thracos. Which Level?¡±

    That will be revealed at the start of the duel.

    ¡°So I can¡¯t even prepare for it. Artifacts and Servitors are allowed?¡±

    Vorakhar inclined his head.

    ¡°And if I kill Thracos, House Thornvale won¡¯t seek revenge?¡±

    Not over Thracos¡¯ death, nor will they now seek to recruit you. This does not mean they shall be rendered toothless, however; any fresh grievance may spark their animosity anew.

    ¡°A problem for the Harald that survives this duel. Fine.¡± Harald met Vorakhar¡¯s stare. The demon¡¯s smugness was galling. ¡°Fine. I¡¯ll kill Thracos.¡± Almost he went to protest, to declare that he¡¯d do it on his own terms, in his own, humane way. That he wouldn¡¯t lean on the Seed and its need for savagery, for bloodshed. But even before he spoke them his words sounded childish, so instead he buried that resolve and inclined his head mockingly. ¡°You have my thanks, Vorakhar. I guess I should get back to training.¡±

    That you should. Know that I¡¯ll continue to watch over your advancement in the dungeon with interest, but shall not respond to your summons on any matter pertaining to this challenge or your direct advancement. Grow quickly, Harald. There is nothing else for you but the hunger for power.

    ¡°You took care of that,¡± said Harald, and turned as a new portal appeared by his side. ¡°This goes back to the 14th?¡±

    Vorakhar inclined his head.

    Harald strode through without another word, not wanting to do the demon the courtesy of a goodbye, and the darkness took him.

    A moment later he stepped out onto the 14th Level, right beside the Dungeon Portal back to Flutic. He was at the first cavern he¡¯d entered with its sunken center, the goblin and hobgoblin corpses where they¡¯d fallen.

    Harald looked about, feeling grim, then gave the dungeon a curt nod and stepped into the portal home.

    *

    ¡°Harald?¡±

    Sam¡¯s voice, concerned, hesitant, outside his bedroom door. Harald jerked up to sitting, unclear for a moment how he¡¯d gotten home. He remembered speaking with Vorakhar, the Dungeon Portal, making his way numbly past the guards, the long walk home.

    Darrowdelve Manor, the house dark, his bedroom, dropping his gear, then simply falling into bed, more weary than he could imagine despite Shadow Fortitude¡¯s attempts to prop him up.

    An exhaustion, he realized, that had come from the overwhelming and numbing emotional load he¡¯d been carrying.

    ¡°Harald? You in there?¡±

    ¡°Here. I¡¯m here.¡±

    The door cracked open and Sam peered in. ¡°Breakfast is ready.¡±

    She sounded tense, like she was saying something else. He thought on calling her out on it, on asking why breakfast was so urgent, but that would be his just playing stupid. So he nodded his head, and she retracted her head and closed the door.

    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

    He was still clad in his gear. He undressed, Shadow Fortitude having eased any pains or aches he might have accumulated during his dungeon run, and stepped into an empty bath to dump a bucket of water over his head. Rinsed, lathered, washed, dressed in clean clothing, then stopped at his bedroom door to consider.

    Should he have come home?

    On the face of it that was a ridiculous question. Where else would he go?

    But he knew how the conversation below was going to go. The demands, the arguments, the insistence that he be responsible, that he not risk his life so heedlessly.

    Worse than that, he could see what he was dragging them into. This demonic war. Vorakhar was a step ahead of him. He¡¯d signed Harald up for this deathmatch with Thracos as a proxy for his battle with Silenthros without caring for Harald¡¯s thought on the matter.

    And why should he?

    Harald bore his Demon Seed.

    Harald was his plaything, his latest investment.

    He closed his eyes and pressed his brow to the door. Thought on how his father had been. Thought of his warnings in his letter. Surround yourself with good people? What if doing so would only hurt them? Didn¡¯t that only make him more evil?

    ¡°Fuck,¡± he hissed, and pulled open the door to descend.

    They were gathered as always in the kitchen. K¨¢rsek looked alarmed, ready to bolt, while Sam stood to one side, arms crossed tightly over her chest. Nessa and Vic were seated at the large table, but Vic¡¯s expression was closed, his brow furrowed, while Nessa was unconvincingly expressionless.

    ¡°Let¡¯s cut to the chase,¡± said Harald heavily from the doorway. ¡°I went to the dungeon last night. Again. I fought my way down to the 14th, and reached Level 3. Vorakhar summoned me to discuss House Thornvale. The solution he reached with his brother is to pit me against Thracos in less than a month¡¯s time in a deathmatch on some undisclosed dungeon level. It¡¯s fucked, I know it¡¯s fucked, and I¡­¡± Emotion swelled his throat shut. Sam went to speak but he raised a hand, cutting her off. ¡°No, please. Let me finish. What¡¯s happening to me. It¡¯s pulling me deeper into Vorakhar¡¯s games. I know now that I¡¯m really changing, and not¡­ not into something good.¡±

    His eyes prickled with a surfeit of emotion as he gazed at his friends. ¡°I think¡­ no, I know this isn¡¯t going anywhere good, and I don¡¯t want to drag you down with me.¡±

    Dark emotion arose within him, bleak and horrified. He knew what he was going to say, what he¡¯d been building up to, what felt, now, inevitable. ¡°Which is why I think I¡¯d best face this month alone to protect you from all of this.¡±

    K¨¢rsek bolted to his feet, brow thunderous. ¡°I need no protection, Master Darrowdelve. My service is a paltry thing, but it¡¯s yours. You know this.¡±

    ¡°And please,¡± drawled Vic. ¡°I cannot abide melodrama when hungover. The really inconsiderate aspect of all this is to be holding this talk after the night I just had, but honestly, I¡¯m a big boy, so I¡¯ll survive.¡±

    ¡°Sit,¡± said Nessa, tone severe.

    ¡°Didn¡¯t you all just hear what I said?¡±

    ¡°We did,¡± said Vic, massaging his brow. ¡°It was very moving. Go on, Harry-boy. Take a load off. We, and by ¡®we¡¯ I mean Sam and Nessa, have their own dramatic speech to give.¡±

    Harald hesitated.

    Nobody seemed intent on leaving.

    So he finally spun a chair around and sat, its back against his chest.

    ¡°Harald.¡± It was Sam that began. She spoke slowly, with precision, as if picking a path through a field of rusted blades. ¡°I¡¯m not even trying to understand everything that happened to you last night, because it¡¯s all a bit too much, but¡ªto be honest? It¡¯s just more of the same.¡±

    ¡°The same?¡± Harald couldn¡¯t believe it.

    ¡°The same,¡± agreed Nessa. ¡°More of your flinging yourself headlong into impossible gains without thinking what it all means.¡±

    ¡°We care about you.¡± Sam said this as if laying down a legal argument. ¡°We¡¯re your friends.¡±

    ¡°All of us are equally fervent,¡± agreed Vic dolorously.

    Sam ignored him. ¡°We¡¯re not going to be ushered out the door when you need us most. I certainly won¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°Nor I,¡± said K¨¢rsek stoutly. ¡°Though I¡¯ll own I know the least about what¡¯s going on here.¡±

    Sam persevered despite the interruptions. ¡°We need to step back and take a look at what¡¯s going on here. Up to this point it¡¯s been all about marveling over your gains and focusing on defeating Yeoric. But it¡¯s seriously time we started considering the implications and doing our due diligence.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re not going to try and stop you from going into the dungeon,¡± said Nessa. ¡°We¡¯re not going to lecture you. Instead, we¡¯re willing to push ourselves harder so as to remain your equals in the dungeon, and one of us will go with you each night into the dungeon proper to keep an eye out for you. In return, you¡¯ll come with us to speak to a specialist in demons.¡±

    Vic raised an eyebrow. ¡°You¡¯re going to speak to Pastoric?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re going to try,¡± allowed Nessa. ¡°If he¡¯ll speak with us. You¡¯re not invited.¡±

    ¡°Oh, thank the angels,¡± sighed Vic in relief.

    ¡°But you need to hear this loud and clear,¡± said Sam, stalking forward to glare down at him. ¡°You need to think about what you¡¯re doing, and why. You need to accept help, but also help yourself. We can¡¯t stop you. We won¡¯t stop you. But if you¡¯ll allow us, we¡¯ll remain a crew, and do our best to face this problem together.¡±

    ¡°Wait,¡± said Vic. ¡°Did Harry say he¡¯s been enrolled into deathmatch with Thracos?!¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± said Harald. ¡°I did. And I am. But¡­¡± He stared angrily at the table. ¡°I appreciate all you¡¯re saying, what you¡¯re offering. All of your. But you don¡¯t know what you¡¯re getting involved in.¡±

    ¡°Oh, I have some idea,¡± said Sam.

    ¡°We all do,¡± agreed Nessa. ¡°Even if we don¡¯t know the details, we recognize that something important is happening here. Your father¡¯s letter made that clear, but I, at least, failed to really appreciate it in the moment. You have a chance of becoming something¡­ spectacular. If you don¡¯t perish in the attempt.¡±

    ¡°What they¡¯re all trying to say, darling, is that we¡¯re intent on helping you master this Seed of yours as we ride your coattails to the top,¡± said Vic.

    Sam glared at him. ¡°That¡¯s not what we¡¯re saying.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s what I¡¯m saying,¡± said Vic dubiously.

    Harald fought down his anger. Fought down his urge to leap up and leave the room. To just go right back to the dungeon and vent his frustration on whatever he found on the next level down. ¡°Look. I¡¯m going to say it one last time -¡±

    Sam crouched before him and took his hand. He fought the urge to meet her gaze, but eventually did so, and found her expression pleading, raw, vulnerable.

    ¡°Harald. I¡¯m a Netherwarden Knight.¡±

    ¡°I know,¡± he said stiffly.

    ¡°No, listen to me. I¡¯ve been thinking about it all night since Nessa came to visit me. We were awarded our classes at the same time. Why? Why was I made a Netherwarden Knight? Why was my Soul Rank raised to Divine? That happened to you when Vorakhar placed the Demon Seed within you, but Eclavistra did no such thing.¡±

    Harald frowned. ¡°You deserved it.¡±

    ¡°Divine?¡± Sam laughed. ¡°Hardly. But think. Your Demon Seed twisted your class to Abyssal Initiate, and your powers have only grown more dark and perilous since. And my class description?¡±

    Harald frowned. ¡°What of it?¡±

    ¡°Sworn defenders against entities that emerge from beyond, Netherwarden Knights wield the power of light and darkness in equal measure. Their solemn oath to protect reality from the encroaching nether forces grants them abilities that are both awe-inspiring and fearsome. Don¡¯t you see? Something chose to make me perfectly suited to fight demons. Vorakhar, Eclavistra, Silenthros. Obviously I¡¯m nowhere close, but why that class?¡±

    Harald¡¯s frown deepened.

    ¡°And think on my Soul Nature. Brightest Star. You are the beacon that cleaves through night¡¯s veil, the unwavering luminescence that guides the lost and forlorn. Your strength is a promise to the world: a light that not only reveals, but elevates.¡±

    Harald pulled his hand back. ¡°What are you saying?¡±

    ¡°That something in the dungeon saw your potential, what you could become, and intervened. Something saw fit to use me as a tool.¡±

    Vic leaned forward. ¡°The lost and forlorn. Darling, no offense, but I can¡¯t think of anyone who matches that description more than you.¡±

    Harald shook his head and sneered. ¡°You¡¯re saying¡ªwhat? That the Fallen Angel intervened so that you could help me?¡±

    Sam¡¯s gaze remained earnest. ¡°Yes. I think so. If not the Fallen Angel herself, then something else in the dungeon. Some counterpart to the demons. Whatever they¡¯re fighting in this celestial war.¡±

    Harald wanted to reject it. He raised, strode to the door, then turned, clutching at his head. ¡°But¡­¡±

    Nessa¡¯s voice was flinty. ¡°Don¡¯t insult us by insisting you¡¯re not that important.¡±

    Sam rose to her feet. ¡°It can¡¯t be a coincidence, Harald. That I was made a Netherwarden Knight and elevated to Brightest Star just as you were given your class? I think I¡¯m meant to fight for you, to help you, to give you strength. I won¡¯t leave your side.¡±

    Harald began to laugh jaggedly, but broke off abruptly.

    Vic rose smoothly, wrapped an arm around Harald¡¯s shoulders, and guided him back to his chair. ¡°Have a drink of water, catch your breath. Believe me, I understand. You should have seen my reaction when they ran this past me earlier. Harald Darrowdelve, the focus of the celestial war? Impossible, I cried. But these ladies can be quite persuasive. Plus, ask yourself this, Harry: in your heart of hearts, do you truly desire to be left alone?¡±

    Harald stared at the table surface, stared right through it, then shook his head. He felt overwhelmed, numb, half-panicked. ¡°No. Not really.¡±

    ¡°Well then.¡± Vic clapped him on the shoulder and sat back down as well. ¡°It¡¯s all resolved. Who¡¯s serving breakfast?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re going to change out approach,¡± said Sam. ¡°Yes, we¡¯re going to continue to train and dungeon delve. You¡¯re fighting Yeoric in a little over three weeks, and now¡­ apparently¡­ Thracos? Regardless, we need to prepare you for those certainties. But more than that, we need to start learning what this all means. What knowledge has been gleaned over the centuries about Demon Seeds, if there are others who¡¯ve suffered as you have -¡±

    ¡°Thracos has one,¡± said Harald.

    They all stilled.

    ¡°Vorakhar told me. He¡¯s my counterpart in House Thornvale. Silenthros¡¯ plaything.¡±

    ¡°Well now.¡± Vic looked to Sam and Nessa. ¡°That¡¯s something. Proof that Harald isn¡¯t the first.¡±

    ¡°Which means there might be lore out there,¡± agreed Sam. ¡°We speak with experts. The Seraphites, if necessary. I¡¯ll focus on leveling, because if I¡¯m to be of any help, I¡¯ll need as much power as I can as well.¡±

    ¡°But the key here is that we¡¯re going to approach this as a crew,¡± said Nessa. ¡°You wanted one, you got one. I¡¯m going to be more aggressive in our raids. Far more aggressive. We¡¯re going to train harder, and spend what spare time we have learning whatever we can about this celestial war. We can¡¯t be the first to have discovered it.¡±

    Vic raised a finger. ¡°But we can¡¯t overlook the danger posed to us by more mundane sources. House Celestis is going to run out of patience very, very soon. The other Houses are no doubt implementing their own aggressive recruitment plans.¡±

    ¡°Vorakhar,¡± said Harald. ¡°He told me that House Thornvale is no longer seeking to recruit me.¡±

    ¡°Now that¡¯s good news,¡± said Vic brightly. ¡°Are you still intent on approaching Countess Sonora?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡± Harald considered, then frowned. ¡°If my doing so doesn¡¯t bring her more trouble due to my¡­ entanglements.¡±

    ¡°Yes, well. We can¡¯t approach her under false pretenses. I¡¯ll¡­ hmm.¡± Vic massaged his temples. ¡°Why is it so hard to think when one¡¯s head is pounding? I¡¯ll think about this and suggest some possibilities.¡±

    ¡°Good,¡± said Nessa. ¡°Then it¡¯s decided? We¡¯re in this together?¡±

    Harald raised his gaze and met her own. Hers was more of a glare, defiant, angry, piercing. He recalled his words to her just the night before. He could have sworn she¡¯d want nothing to do with him after how callously he¡¯d rejected her aid.

    But she simply stared at him now, daring him to ask something asinine.

    ¡°Very well,¡± he allowed at last. ¡°Thank you. I don¡¯t know if it¡¯s wise, but¡­ thank you.¡±

    Sam immediately leaned in and hugged him tight.

    For a moment they remained thus, and then K¨¢rsek stood and coughed gruffly into his fist. His brow was furrowed, his lips pursed under his mustache, and his manner firm. ¡°I for one am glad to hear that our company shall remain as one. But now, with all due respect, I must insist: what by the Dead Forge is going on?¡±

 Chapter 81

    K¨¢rsek returned to the ancient garden shed once their conversation in the kitchen was finished. He had worked hard and happily at converting it into a new soulkeep, embracing both how it would undoubtedly be a temporary vehicle for his wandering spirit yet also a necessary creation for his peace of mind.

    The previous owner, Mickle, had taken good care of the small building and its tools. The shelves were sturdily built, the floor planks carefully set, and the tools hung from pegs in a pleasingly ordered manner. Time had worked its inevitable ruin, but that very decay had given K¨¢rsek purpose, and for days on end he¡¯d patiently sat and removed rust, sharpened edges, and oiled mechanisms until everything was restored.

    He¡¯d washed the small glass panes, had replaced the boards that had warped too much, and chosen to leave the thick ivy that had encompassed the shed from outside, only trimming back enough so that light could pour in through the three windows. He¡¯d swept, waxed, and varnished until the interior gleamed, while also devoting long hours to the garden outside, where he¡¯d trimmed, cut, sawed, and pruned.

    There was honor in honest work. Pleasure in cultivating order from chaos. Tidying a garden wasn¡¯t as rewarding as crafting with metal and stone, for nature could and would not remain within set boundaries, but if one could find satisfaction in the act of ordering, as he mother had once told him, then delight could be found even in shaping the currents of a stream.

    All of which was to say, K¨¢rsek had been distracting himself from the horror of his life by fixating on ritual and hyperfocused tasks.

    But turning the shed into an actual gnomon two nights ago had exhausted the ways in which he could keep himself busy. Once the shed was as close to perfected as he could make it, he¡¯d sat cross-legged, closed his eyes, and attuned it to the Earthblood, far, far below.

    And the Earthblood had responded to his call.

    The power of the deeps had risen up to infuse the small shed, changing it visibly not at all but creating within its walls a shelter for K¨¢rsek¡¯s soul. A place where the old pain of banishment from Dumr?n and the hallowed depths was muted, and his yearning for clan and purpose softened.

    A soulkeep, a place of respite and solace in a world that shunned him from birth.

    K¨¢rsek slipped into the shed, removed his boots by the door, and padded to the back where a single cushion lay. There he sat, stiff-backed, and closed his eyes, resting his callused hands on his knees as he finally allowed himself to truly exhale.

    The soulkeep eased the pain. Whether it was a caravan, a temporary cabin, or even in emergencies a simple cave, Tinker Dwarves always created one where they could to save themselves from the buffeting pain of loss.

    A spiritual loss that linked them like a leash to the long halls of their ancestors, halls that K¨¢rsek had never visited, but lamented all the same.

    He exhaled steadily.

    Much had finally been revealed to him.

    He¡¯d grasped aspects, elements, pieces of the whole, but refrained from guessing, from leaping to conclusions.

    But now he understood.

    Reaching down, he increased the upwell of Earthblood so that the soulkeep grew saturated with power. To the outside eye, nothing would appear different, but to K¨¢rsek the inside of the shed was now redolent with raw power.

    For dwarves needed that power to become malleable and consider change. Without it, they remained stoic and single-minded, hewing to their habits and beliefs. It took a surfeit of Earthblood to render them open to new opportunities, new possibilities, to accepting change.

    K¨¢rsek allowed the Earthblood to wash over him. This being an established soulkeep, the power came far more quickly and in greater quantities than if he¡¯d attempted the same outside in the garden.

    He felt his soul grow molten, felt his stiffness, his dedication to his pursuits, grow flexible.

    Only then, when he thought himself at his most mercurial, did he turn his mind to what he¡¯d been told, and try to decide what to do.

    Harald Darrowdelve, his thark?n, was in turn beholden to Vorakhar, a greater gathul who had saved Harald from death. Thus, indirectly, Vorakhar would become K¨¢rsek¡¯s thark?n.

    K¨¢rsek sat with that, a light frown marring his brow.

    To have a gathul as a thark?n was, in the epics, a fate worse than death.

    Yet Harald was wrestling against his debt, respected not his thark?n, and sought independence.

    Not respecting your thark?n was the height of dishonor.

    K¨¢rsek¡¯s frown deepened.

    If he was to remain with Harald, then, he would both be ultimately accepting Vorkhar as his thark?n, but pledging his life to a human with no honor.

    His own honor bid him assist Harald in whatever endeavor he undertook. But was it honorable to assist another in a dishonorable pursuit?

    Or should it be considered dishonorable to defy a gathul, even if that being had saved one¡¯s life? Did not the gathul¡¯s nature make it worthy of defiance?

    K¨¢rsek forced himself to breathe slowly and deeply. Earthblood flowed around him, keeping his mind pliant and supple. Normally K¨¢rsek sought immediate answers, comparing outcomes to his current mindset and accepting or discarding them instantly. But here in his soulkeep, malleable, he was able to remain in a state of continued uncertainty, the discomfort minimal.

    His choice was simple: remain true to his thark?n, or kill himself. He could not spurn Harald for dishonor if that meant he himself dishonored Harald in turn. Thus the option was simple. Aid Harald, or buy back the life debt by killing himself.

    K¨¢rsek was young, only some sixty-five summers old, but even he, an irresponsible and flighty Tinker Dwarf, knew the weight of responsibility. His grandfather had angrily asserted time and again that Tinker Dwarves were more honorable than the Deep Dwarves, because they had no reason to be, and thus every honorable act was twice as golden.

    It wasn¡¯t true, but K¨¢rsek had always understood the sentiment.

    Could honor be found in following Harald¡¯s dishonorable pursuit? Only if Harald repaid his life debt to Vorakhar, but that seemed unlikely given the gathul¡¯s ambitions. Or he could convince the thark?n to discharge it voluntarily by various means, which, in Harald¡¯s case, seemed to revolve becoming a sufficient foe or source of aggravation that the gathul decided to be done with him.

    Which would no doubt lead to the gathul killing Harald, but that was fine, as it would meet the criteria for restoring honor.

    But if Vorakhar slew Harald before K¨¢rsek could discharge his life debt, than K¨¢rsek would have to avenge his own thark?n by killing Vorakhar, something he was woefully, impossibly disqualified from doing.

    Only a Forge Father or a Dreadthane might hope to destroy a greater gathul. K¨¢rsek was as nothing compared to such legendary figures.

    If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    But he had never until this point wished to be.

    Until this point he had been content to be a simple Earth Shaper. To forge and direct the Earthblood when and if he saw fit, and nothing more.

    If he was to assist Harald, then he would need to become something capable of killing a gathul.

    He would need to become something far more dangerous.

    K¨¢rsek inhaled deeply. He had, it felt, reached a decision. He would hew to his own honor by continuing to support Harald, but with the understanding that the dishonor this created would be wiped clean when Harald was slain by his own thark?n. K¨¢rsek would then seek to destroy the gathul in turn, no doubt failing, but his own personal honor would be redeemed by the amount of damage he was able to deliver before being slain.

    Yes.

    That felt right.

    Unorthodox, and his grandfather would have been furious, but the honor of Tinker Dwarves was not the fixed and obdurate honor of the Deep Dwarves. It could be crafted into its own weapon, and wielded toward fitting ends.

    Very well.

    Then it was time to reforge himself. He could only begin the process here, in his soulkeep, but in time, as they pressed deeper into the dungeon, he would find places of power, places where the Earthblood was so concentrated that he would be able to continue his evolution.

    His need was great. His task impossible. He accepted the inevitability of his death, and the great power he would need to vindicate his temporary sacrifice of his honor.

    This opened to him class possibilities that he had never considered before.

    The Earthblood began to rage around him as he drew ever more. Sweat prickled his brow and his stomach curdled with strain as he drew more and more of the great power from the depths.

    Dwarves from miles around would no doubt sense the disturbance, and intuit that a great need was being assuaged.

    Harald felt his own Earth Mover class become insubstantial, melting like a wax cast placed inside an oven. It great indistinct, its contours and angles rounding away as it became a molten blob, and then he pushed for the greatest class he could think of.

    DreadRune.

    K¨¢rsek sat with that possibility.

    Weighed it in his mind.

    Considered how it would change him, mold him in its image.

    Much as Harald¡¯s Demon Seed was affecting him.

    But his freedom of self-determination had been much curtailed when Harald had saved his life.

    So yes. He would change.

    His honor demanded nothing less.

    K¨¢rsek opened himself up to the Earthblood completely, turning his palms upward, and allowed his spirit to resonate to the magic¡¯s deepest registers. He soaked it in until he felt himself at one with the essence, and then he imprinted upon himself the angular and severe outline of the new class.

    His being warped, strained, grew thin.

    DreadRune was a terrible class, a class of pure necessity, a class of great sacrifice and power.

    K¨¢rsek wasn¡¯t confident he could encompass it, but he felt no fear. If he died here in the attempt, then that was an honorable escape from his life debt.

    His thoughts began to grow rigid, aligning themselves with the concerns and focal points of his new class. He became other than what he had been. Still K¨¢rsek, but no longer K¨¢rsek the Earth Mover.

    Over the course of many long hours, he became K¨¢rsek the DreadRune.

    His soul shuddered and creaked. Fissures opened and sealed as it sought to encapsulate what would be needed of it.

    A Rune.

    His first.

    Manifested through the course of deliberate epiphany.

    And then, finally, deep into the night, K¨¢rsek opened his eyes.

    It was done.

    He had his first Rune.

    He raised his hand and allowed himself to marvel at it for only a few moments. To allow the old K¨¢rsek to marvel at the new.

    Within him floated the potentiality for the weaponizing Earthblood to its greatest extreme. His first Rune was a hazy afterimage that hung superimposed over the soulkeep before him.

    All he need do was infuse it with Earthblood and it would activate, changing the world according to its fell design.

    Not something that he would idly attempt out of curiosity.

    He sighed, took out a cloth, and wiped the sweat from his brow. Gazed around at the tools that he had so painstakingly restored. Thought on the garden that he had labored so diligently to cultivate.

    None of that interested him any longer.

    That was all beneath him now.

    He rose to his feet, dusted himself off, and considered his smudged and worn clothing. He would need better.

    K¨¢rsek left the shed and returned to the main house. Entering through the patio door, he saw light coming from the first parlor. He approached and saw Harald seated in one of the overstuffed armchairs before the fireplace, his expression solemn, thoughtful.

    ¡°Master Darrowdelve,¡± said K¨¢rsek, announcing himself as he stepped into the room. Even his voice had changed, deepened in register and grown more dignified. ¡°I have given our situation the appropriate amount of thought, and reached a decision.¡±

    Harald blinked, glanced at K¨¢rsek, then sat up straight. No doubt his thark?n intuited on some instinctual level that change that had overcome his charge.

    ¡°You have? That¡¯s good. What did you decide?¡±

    ¡°I have changed my class from Earth Mover to DreadRune.¡± K¨¢rsek said this with no pride. ¡°This shall allow me to accomplish what needs doing in the times to come.¡±

    ¡°You what?¡± Harald¡¯s surprise was predictable. ¡°You can do that? Just change your class?¡±

    ¡°All dwarves can, if circumstances demand it.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡± Harald frowned. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ that¡¯s great. DreadRune? Sounds¡­ formidable.¡±

    ¡°It is. My kind rarely has need of such power. Only when our homes are threatened by overwhelming forces, or our armies march against superior foes where victory is far from assured. It is a weighty responsibility, but I feel it an appropriate one.¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± said Harald again, clearly mystified and intrigued. ¡°Why, ah, couldn¡¯t you just, I don¡¯t know, take on that class from the get-go? Wouldn¡¯t it have helped you gain power and wealth with greater ease?¡±

    ¡°A DreadRune is not concerned with political power or wealth,¡± said K¨¢rsek. ¡°A DreadRune thinks only of the battles to come. And I did not become one before because I had no need of it.¡±

    ¡°All right.¡± Harald didn¡¯t understand. ¡°But you were almost dying in the dungeon when I met you.¡±

    ¡°One¡¯s death, if honorable, is not sufficient cause to change one¡¯s class,¡± answered K¨¢rsek.

    ¡°Oh. But our situation with Vorakhar is?¡±

    ¡°You owe Vorakhar a life debt, yet you have chosen to defy him. This is dishonorable, if understandable, given that he is gathul. I have a life debt to you, and thus your dishonor passes on to me. My choice therefore was either to kill myself or find a means to help you turn your dishonor into honor. You defiance will assuredly result in the gathul slaying you when he realizes your betrayal. I then will salvage my temporary dishonor by attempting to kill him in turn. That death will redeem my spirit, but only if I do my best to slay the gathul, a deed that is beyond any Earth Mover, or most other dwarven classes. Only a DreadRune might have a chance, and that only if I have sufficient time to grow into my power.¡±

    Harald just stared at him.

    ¡°With my change now accomplished, I must go into Flutic to acquire equipment and clothing appropriate to my new station.¡± K¨¢rsek inclined his head. ¡°Thus I shall take my leave of you for now, Master Darrowdelve, and be ready to train and delve in the morning.¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± said Harald softly. ¡°Do you need¡­. Do you need funds for these purchases?¡±

    ¡°I do not. The other dwarves will recognize my station and understand that what I request is owed to me. I merely need collect my new possessions.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯ll just¡­ give it all to you?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± said K¨¢rsek, smiling grimly. ¡°They will. I am a DreadRune. None shall gainsay me. Until tomorrow morning, Master Darrowdelve.¡±

    K¨¢rsek bowed and departed the manor.

    His Rune floated before him, ethereal, potent, eternally in potential.

    There was a dwarven quarter in Flutic. K¨¢rsek and Freyka had avoided it, given the nature of their flight from their home clan.

    But now K¨¢rsek made his way stolidly toward the Deepforge quarter, not rushing. He enjoyed the midnight walk, and ignored the curious stares from city guards and the other night folk.

    Something about his bearing, however, dissuaded any of them from bothering him.

    Arriving Deepforge, he slowed and intuited where he should go; much of the quarter would be underground, quarried and excavated over the centuries. The quarter was unimpressive aboveground; mostly solid squares of neatly joined stone blocks with restrained pattern work over the door lintels and windows. So cunningly wrought where these homes and structures that it was quietly understood amongst dwarven kind that long after the rest of Flutic had collapsed into disarray and ruin, these buildings would still stand, as enduring as the mountains.

    The streets of Deepforge were empty. K¨¢rsek found the closest stairwell down, housed within a stone gazebo set in one corner of a square, and there passed the twin sentries.

    The old K¨¢rsek would have bowed deeply to both dwarves, whose classes would have been more august than his meager Earth Mover.

    Tonight, however, K¨¢rsek frowned at them as he strode by.

    Both sentries, unofficial keepers of the peace in Deepforge and the eyes of the quarter¡¯s Forge Master, frowned back, momentarily confused, and then their eyes widened as they sensed the Earthblood within him.

    They bowed, but K¨¢rsek was already descending. A staircase spiraled down into the depths, flanked on the outside by a smooth ramp. Down he went, heavy with intent, and emerged onto the first subterranean level, a good thirty feet underground.

    The quarter came alive here, the broad halls illuminated by Earthblood lanterns, the ground chiseled into a tessellated geometric pattern. Archways led to commercial clusters, clan repositories, communal spaces, and drinking halls. The air was rich with the tang of heated metal, artificially created to simulate the atmosphere of a forge by heated ingots placed in sconces every dozen yards. K¨¢rsek heard the guttural conversation of dwarves all about him, and in the distance a solemn concert being played on chasmpipes and drums.

    The dwarves here were a mixture of visitors and residents, both easily distinguished by their garb and bearing. All were fastidiously and soberly dressed, the quality of their clothing reflecting their station and the elevation of their class.

    His progress was noticed, and everywhere disdain became wonder and wary speculation as he strode down the center of the hall. Only the most important dwarves could claim the centerline; the lower your class, the closer to the walls you had to walk.

    K¨¢rsek, hands linked behind his back, proceeded with inexorable dignity in search of the right establishment, but saw approaching up ahead a venerable dwarf, white bearded and clad in mithril and sable cloth, his dignity impeachable, his bearing stately.

    They met in the center of the hall.

    The elder dwarf raised a bushy eyebrow as he appraised K¨¢rsek. Around them the other dwarves slowed their passage, clearly curious by the confrontation, but none daring to be so gauche as to actually stop and stare.

    The elder was potent with power, and stared at K¨¢rsek not with anger, but with surprise. ¡°Well met in the heart of the Deepforge, young master. I do not recognize your face, nor does your lineage or clan come to mind, but your steps echo with purpose, and your bearing would do an Anvil King proud. Who might you be, that walks the centerline of our hallowed halls?¡±

    K¨¢rsek inclined his head politely. ¡°I was a Tinker Dwarf of no account until tonight. Now I am K¨¢rsek, a DreadRune, and have come for that which is already mine.¡±

    The elder¡¯s eyebrows rose and his mouth fell open. He quickly gathered his wits, however, and ran his wrinkled hand down his ivory beard before bowing his head low. ¡°Be welcome in the Deepforge. I am Thane Brogar Ironheart, a Chasm Caller of no small repute. But I bow to your purpose, and must ask: what peril has demanded this evolution, and does it concern our quarter?¡±

    ¡°Well met, Thane Ironheart.¡± K¨¢rsek felt a brief burst of delight, but it was vestigial, and unbecoming of his new station. It passed. ¡°The peril I face is a personal affair, but involves forces that may one day endanger not only Deepforge but Flutic itself. I shall advise you should the time come that it concerns our brethren.¡±

    Thane Ironheart¡¯s natural dignity returned to him, and he considered, lips pursed, bobbing his head. Then, turning about, he moved to stand beside K¨¢rsek, ceding the centerline, and gestured for them to proceed.

    ¡°Then let me accompany you on your visit to Deepforge. May I guide you to the best craftsmen?¡±

    K¨¢rsek inclined his head. ¡°I would be honored.¡±

    ¡°No, no, it is you that does us honor.¡± The Thane linked his hands behind his back in similar manner to K¨¢rsek, and together they continued down the hall, their approach heralded by whispers and alarm. ¡°If there is anything Deepforge can do to assist you in your responsibilities, only let us know, and we shall spring into action.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, Thane.¡± K¨¢rsek considered how swiftly his situation had changed, but then, instead of pride, felt only loss. His life as an Earth Mover had been a good one, full of simple pleasures and little responsibility. He knew he the weaker parts of himself would only come to miss it more as the challenges arose to confront him. ¡°Your hospitality does you and Deepforge great honor.¡±

    ¡°Then come,¡± said the Thane. ¡°Let us outfit you in a manner becoming of a DreadRune. Our resources here are meager, but we shall do our best.¡±

    And together, the elder dwarf and the younger proceeded into the heart of the Deepforge.

 Chapter 82

    The next morning Harald rose early, not to run, but with the intention of getting out of the house and simply walk. The day before had been nothing but circuitous discussions and fitful bouts of training; it had done nothing to relieve him of his conflicted emotions, nor settle his uncertainty about the path they¡¯d chosen to tread as a crew.

    He wanted certainty. He wanted that particular bliss that came from knowing you¡¯d chosen the single best option. But as persuasive as his friends had been, he still wasn¡¯t sure that this was it.

    To train and fight and rise with the Throne Hunters until they could¡­ what? Kill Vorakhar? That¡¯s where his companions had fallen silent, when he¡¯d asked them where this all would lead. They¡¯d waxed poetic about the journey, training together, accelerating their pace, how they¡¯d help him stay sane, stay¡­ himself¡­ but as to the terminus?

    They simply didn¡¯t know.

    How could they?

    He¡¯d stayed up late into the night, alone, sunken in unproductive thoughts. A long, dark reverie that had been interrupted only by K¨¢rsek¡¯s abrupt appearance and eerie change. The young dwarf had looked like himself, physically, but his air, his sudden dignity, the dark and terrible power that had glittered in his eyes¡ªall of it had been a dramatic evolution.

    Harald had tried to understand the import of everything the dwarf had spoken, but was sure that much of it had gone over his head.

    More uncertainties.

    Sam and Nessa were already in the kitchen when he descended, and to his surprise seemed to be having a civil conversation. A new ease had appeared between them both, which was one improvement he heartily welcomed.

    ¡°Heading out?¡± asked Sam, one arm crossed over her chest, coffee mug in hand.

    ¡°But not to the dungeon,¡± said Nessa wryly from where she sat at the table. ¡°Unless you¡¯re becoming supremely casual about venturing below.¡±

    ¡°Ha, no.¡± Harald moved to the coffee carafe. ¡°I¡¯m not quite there yet. One day, maybe. You¡¯ll know I¡¯ve become a veritable monster when I start raiding without sword and gear.¡±

    ¡°Hello?¡± Vic¡¯s cheery voice echoed through the manor from the front. ¡°I come bearing gifts, namely a new set of cards and a willingness to divest everyone of their scales. Hello?¡±

    ¡°Gambling?¡± Nessa sounded half amused, half exasperated. ¡°At this hour?¡±

    Vic appeared in the doorway clad in a black velvet doublet and half-cloak. ¡°Who¡¯s feeling irresponsibly lucky?¡±

    ¡°Vic, it¡¯s not yet Eighth Bell,¡± protested Nessa.

    ¡°All the more time for us to spend playing this game I learned last night. It¡¯s stressful, yes, and the pace rapid, but ah! The scales one must wager to remain in the game¡­ no? Nobody¡¯s interested?¡±

    ¡°Have some coffee,¡± said Sam soothingly. ¡°Maybe a buttered scone?¡±

    ¡°Pah,¡± said Vic. ¡°What? You going to tell me that you want to remain a morose mess of people fearing Thracos, demons, and the imminent blackmail that¡¯s surely to come from the major Houses?¡±

    ¡°Something like that,¡± grinned Harald, despite himself. ¡°But now that you mention it, I should begin my petition to Countess Sonora, what with House Thornvale neutralized for now.¡±

    ¡°Joining House Sonora might deflect Melisende¡¯s anger,¡± murmured Nessa into her coffee. ¡°In large part due to the Countess being as far from a rival as one can get.¡±

    ¡°Possibly,¡± said Vic, wagging his head from side to side. ¡°But don¡¯t discount how irrationally vindictive women can be when spurned.¡±

    Both Nessa and Sam just stared at him.

    ¡°What?¡± he protested, standing up straight. ¡°I speak from personal experience. Women are¡ª¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t dig your hole any deeper,¡± warned Nessa.

    ¡°Agreed,¡± said Sam.

    Vic hesitated then sighed, shoulders slumping dramatically. ¡°Very well. Regardless, you¡¯re definitely in need of protection. You¡¯re positive you wish to go with House Sonora, though? That¡¯s like opting to hang a millstone around your neck instead of leaping aboard a gilded carriage.¡±

    ¡°Gilded carriage with bars for windows,¡± said Harald. ¡°No, I think I prefer a commitment that affords me some measure of independence.¡±

    ¡°Hilarious. You think Countess Sonora will hesitate to use you to her advantage?¡±

    ¡°We can discuss it, I suppose. How soon do you think I can see her?¡±

    ¡°How soon? I was meant to dine with her this evening. She¡¯s attempting to convince me to fight for her outside the dungeon. Her financial woes are growing dire, and she¡¯s a hankering to fight for her stolen assets. Something Ness and I have always been leery of doing.¡±

    Nessa nodded. ¡°House politics is only ever lucrative in the short term.¡±

    ¡°Then perhaps I¡¯ll come along?¡± Harald glanced at them both. ¡°If you don¡¯t think she¡¯ll mind?¡±

    Vic shared an inscrutable look with Nessa. ¡°She won¡¯t mind. She doesn¡¯t get many guests anymore. But don¡¯t mistake her for a helpless maiden, Harry. She¡¯s as sharp and driven as any House grandee.¡±

    ¡°Whatever she is, I¡¯m certain it¡¯s better than Lady Yseult and her sister. Very well.¡± Harald stood and flashed a smile. ¡°So: training until then?¡±

    ¡°But I brought cards,¡± protested Vic.

    ¡°Training,¡± agreed Sam.

    ¡°We need to break you out of your reliance on the Dungeon Square,¡± agreed Nessa.

    ¡°Fine,¡± sighed Vic, tossing the deck onto a distant table. ¡°I suppose you were all serious yesterday about accelerating everything.¡±

    ¡°How long¡¯s it been since you leveled, Vic?¡± asked Nessa.

    ¡°You wound me.¡±

    ¡°You do realize that Harald is now the same level as you?¡±

    Vic stared at Harald, his gaze suddenly speculative. ¡°Hmm. Maybe it¡¯s time I started training seriously after all.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s no need,¡± grinned Harald. ¡°In a week or two I¡¯ll make Level 4, and then it¡¯ll be me protecting you in the dungeon.¡±

    ¡°Oh, is that so?¡± Vic¡¯s grin turned predatory. ¡°Then perhaps we should begin today¡¯s session with a friendly little duel? Nothing serious, mind you. Just a little test of my third Level Abilities against yours.¡±

    ¡°Boys,¡± warned Nessa.

    ¡°Sounds great.¡± Harald smiled. ¡°I¡¯ll be waiting outside. Try not to take too long picking the outfit you¡¯ll be humiliated in.¡±

    Vic grinned. ¡°Oh good. As fun as it¡¯s been watching Nessa spank you, I think it¡¯s time Uncle Vic taught you some real humility. I¡¯ll see you in just a moment, Harry-boy.¡±

    And he strode from the parlor.

    ¡°Was that wise?¡± asked Sam.

    ¡°It was perfect,¡± replied Nessa. ¡°Well done, Harald. Needling his ego is practically the only way to get him to exert himself.¡±

    Harald didn¡¯t answer. Instead, he felt a dangerously excited sense of anticipation arise within him.

    He couldn¡¯t wait to try his new abilities against Vic.

    * * *

    Harald swapped into his training gear and limbered up outside on the lawn while awaiting Vic.

    Sam and Nessa took seats at the edge of the patio and conversed quietly as they watched and enjoyed a cold breakfast.

    He couldn¡¯t deny it. Harald was excited to face Vic. The other man had always seemed to far beyond his abilities, so skilled, so deadly. Only a month or so ago he¡¯d led Harald through the 4th Level of the dungeon, talking him through his first fights with the ashen walkers.

    And now they were going to spar as equals.

    Harald swung the Dawnblade in great swooping arcs, limbering up his shoulders. Not equals. Vic was still far more experienced in the art of dueling than he, and the rapier was the weapon par excellence for fighting a human opponent.

    He¡¯d seen Vic fight enough times to understand how this would go; the Rapier Regent would crouch low with his weapon extended aggressively forward, a needle waiting for the right moment to lunge and land a mortal blow.

    Harald would need to parry and deflect the lunge, get inside the weapon¡¯s reach, and then demolish Vic once he was deprived of his rapier¡¯s point.

    Getting in would be the trick, however.

    Vic finally emerged, clad in a white shirt and tan pants, somehow managing to look equally ready for violence or tea with a duchess. His golden hair was bound back, and his manner was alert, focused, intent.

    ¡°Wooden practice blades, I believe?¡± Vic crouched beside the long bag to draw forth his training rapier. ¡°We wouldn¡¯t want you all sliced to ribbons, would we?¡±

    ¡°Suits me,¡± said Harald, setting the Dawnblade down against the patio retaining wall.

    ¡°Why don¡¯t you dismiss it?¡± asked Sam, leaning forward.

    ¡°I¡¯ve temporarily replaced it with another Artifact.¡±

    ¡°Of course he has,¡± sighed Vic, rolling his eyes as he stepped out onto the grass, where he began a series of practice lunges from a deep crouch. ¡°And no doubt acquired a unicorn as a Servitor, and been gifted a thousand Infinitums by the Fallen Angel herself.¡±

    ¡°How did you know?¡± asked Harald wryly as he drew out his practice blade with the leaden core.

    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    ¡°Good luck,¡± said Sam, eyes shining. ¡°I can¡¯t wait to see what you can do.¡±

    ¡°Most likely it¡¯ll just be rolling around on the grass in pain,¡± said Nessa. ¡°Luck, Harry.¡±

    He saluted them both with the blade and moved to stand across from Vic, who turned to regard him, blade still cutting back and forth. ¡°Rules?¡±

    ¡°Rules are for children and the timid. You and I? We shall duel to our heart¡¯s content ¨C that or our body¡¯s tolerance. Just¡­ not in the face, if you can manage it.¡± Vic grinned. ¡°You don¡¯t want to earn the wrath of a thousand whores.¡±

    ¡°Not in the face,¡± allowed Harald, matching Vic¡¯s grin. He swung the practice blade around, cleaving through the quarters of the Dungeon Square, then entered the Plow Guard, hilt at his hip, tip pointed at Vic¡¯s face, ready for a swift parry.

    Vic eased into his combat stance, rapier extended like a silver line before him, other arm curved out to the side. There was a steely athleticism to him that was rarely demonstrated; too often Harald pictured Vic lounging in a kitchen chair or sleeping off wine on a parlor setee.

    But here, now, Vic subtly shifted his demeanor and became a Rapier Regent. Calm, sharp, focused, he studied Harald and no doubt saw elements of his guard and intent that Harald wasn¡¯t even aware of betraying.

    But unlike with Nessa, Harald didn¡¯t want to slowly work his way through all the steps, so instead he tapped his two Thrones and allowed power to flow into his aura. The Aching Depths poured forth, dimming the early afternoon light, dropping the temperature, and swirled around Vic as it sought to rob him of his determination, his clarity of thought, his boldness.

    ¡°Oh, very nice.¡± Vic¡¯s smile was as cutting as his blade. ¡°I can see why Nessa was begging for mercy before.¡±

    Harald didn¡¯t have to look to know Nessa was rolling her eyes.

    ¡°But two can play at this game.¡±

    And Vic changed.

    Everything about him became unfamiliar and intimidating. He seemed more lethal in every way, his features somehow imparting a sense of murderous cruelty that made him as monstrous as anything Harald had fought in the dungeon. The tension in the air heightened, piercing through his Aching Depths, and Harald¡¯s very body reacted to the aura, his gut clenching, his throat tightening, his eyes widening.

    But Ego 23 ensured that Vic¡¯s Aura of Cruelty could only go so far; Harald took a deep breath, and smiled. ¡°Now I know how your lovers feel when you darken their doorway.¡±

    ¡°If only your blade could pierce so deep,¡± smiled Vic. ¡°Alas. You wield it like a feather duster.¡±

    ¡°Some of my very best friends were Majordomos. I¡¯ll take that as a compliment.¡±

    ¡°Quit flirting and fight,¡± called Nessa.

    ¡°She¡¯s right,¡± said Vic. ¡°Here it comes!¡±

    Harald instantly ignited Dark Vigor as Vic lunged smoothly out to the side, sliding impossibly far to position himself on Harald¡¯s flank even as power flooded into his frame, boosting his Strength, Dexterity, and Constitution.

    Harald spun, parrying the low sweep that would have taken out his leg, and leaped back as Vic followed up, his rapier spearing forth again and again.

    He was so angels damned fast. Not only that, but there was a purpose to his attack, a knowledge as to where to probe, when to feint, that made it so that Harald didn¡¯t even have time to think of ripostes or counters. Instead, he stumbled back, on his heels, parrying desperately as their blades clacked in the afternoon air, till Vic drew away and rose slightly from his crouch.

    ¡°Admirable. You¡¯ve -¡±

    But the withdrawal itself was a feint. Vic exploded into his infamous lunge, unleashing Piercing Lance so that he blurred as he came at Harald.

    Too fast. His aim was perfect.

    Harald didn¡¯t have time to do more then throw himself aside into a desperate roll, landing awkwardly on his side and coming up into a crouch even as Vic tapped him on the shoulder and then the side of the neck.

    ¡°Darling,¡± said Vic. ¡°Honestly. Rolls only work in theatrical productions. One to me.¡±

    Harald stood, forcing a smile, and shook out his shoulders. The man was operating under the effects of Aching Depths with admirable elan. ¡°What¡¯s your Ego, Vic? I don¡¯t think you ever said.¡±

    ¡°Mine?¡± Vic¡¯s smile was enhanced by his aura into an expression of pure disdain. ¡°Oh, believe you me. It¡¯s outrageously high.¡±

    Harald considered his approach. Dark Vigor was imparting a prodigious enhancement to his physical stats that allowed him to just barely compensate for his lack of skill, while Aching Depths was hopefully blunting some of Vic¡¯s lethality. But Shadowy Fortitude wasn¡¯t of much help in landing a blow, and Demonic Edge was liable to take Vic¡¯s head off.

    Whereas almost all of Vic¡¯s Abilities were perfectly suited for a duel.

    ¡°En garde,¡± said Vic, sliding into his stance and immediately lunging for Harald. Who executed a hasty parry, danced away so that he could adopt a stance, then pressed the attack chopping and slashing at Vic in an attempt to drive him back.

    But Vic¡¯s blade was everywhere, as with unparalleled speed he wove a defensive barrier of rapid, interlocking strikes. Harald longed for the boost that the Goldchops imparted, felt slow and weak in comparison to the style he¡¯d adopted in the dungeons, but still he pressed his attack. With great care he avoided the Dungeon Square, knowing Vic would tear him apart the moment he did, and instead used his blade¡¯s weight and his own strength to hammer at Vic¡¯s defenses, hoping to overwhelm the lighter blade.

    He didn¡¯t even see the riposte coming. One moment he thought he had Vic on his heels, the next a solid blow landed right in his sternum.

    And then Vic used Subtle Step to somehow slide right behind Harald and crack a blow across his ribs followed by a second to the side of his thigh.

    ¡°Bravo, Vic!¡± called Nessa.

    ¡°Punch him in the face, Harald!¡± shouted Sam.

    Harald grimaced as he turned. He raised his blade and forced himself to calm down. He inhaled deeply and let it go. The other man was just too skilled, too experienced. How many actual duels had Vic fought, how many delves into the dungeon? They might have the same number of Thrones and Levels, but Vic¡¯s experience was just too deep.

    If he was going to win this, it would have to be with a completely different approach.

    Vic watched him, countenance harsh and cruel.

    ¡°All right,¡± said Harald, and willed Abyssal Attunement to flood down the length of his sword, turning it jet black. He felt the cold promise of the abyss blossom on its edge, and entered the Ox, hilt by his temple, tip pointed aggressively at Vic¡¯s face. ¡°Ready?¡±

    ¡°More like hopeful,¡± replied Vic. ¡°And a little pitying?¡±

    Harald smiled.

    Vic had said no rules.

    He summoned Umbral Aegis.

    Shadows came flooding toward him, streaking across the grass, coalescing like frost about his figure, enveloping him in ebon armor. He felt a direct link to the abyss open through his newly formed cloak, his gaze darkening as his black faceplate appeared, his every inch immediately covered in black plating.

    Vic¡¯s eyes went wide.

    But Harald was already moving. He swung his abyssal sword and unleashed a Demonic Edge, sending the shimmering arc of terrible energy flying past Vic¡¯s flank, the very air tortured by the assault, and even as Vic recoiled Harald was on him, thrusting his blade at the man¡¯s chest.

    Somehow Vic twisted and parried the blow, his rapier flicking up with unnatural speed, but Harald wasn¡¯t done. He powered right into the bind, crashing their swords together and then followed Sam¡¯s advice to crack his gauntleted fist right into Vic¡¯s face.

    The man¡¯s head rocked back but the blow did little damage; he sought to disengage, to untangle their weapons, but Harald kept the pressure up, trying to trip the man by sweeping his leg out as he stumbled back.

    Vic danced around the attempt, neat as a courtier in a ballroom, and then disappeared, Subtle Step taking him away and placing him to Harald¡¯s flank. He unleashed a blow, but Harald¡¯s Umbral Aegis absorbed it even as Harald spun, longsword scything around to drive Vic back again, only to unleash a second Demonic Edge that seared the air inches above Vic¡¯s head as it flew past.

    Vic¡¯s instincts bid him duck, right as Harald burst forward to knee him in the face.

    The blow was solid. A direct hit. But somehow Vic still didn¡¯t suffer much damage as he staggered back, eyes fluttering as he brought his rapier around.

    Harald pressed in, stabbing and chopping with his sword, abandoning his form as he sought to land a solid blow with Abyssal Attunement. The propulsive power of Dark Vigor burned within him, and he found himself desperately yearning to crush Vic, to prove himself, to hammer the other man into the ground, to defeat him utterly.

    Especially before his Thrones ran out of power, and all his Abilities fled.

    Vic parried with impossible skill, still stunned by the blow to the head, his rapier seeming to move of its own accord, always deflecting and guiding Harald¡¯s blade aside.

    Harald couldn¡¯t keep it up for much longer. His twin Thrones were almost completely expended. A second or two more was all he needed, however, just another moment to crack through Vic¡¯s guard¡ª

    A sense of warmth and calm washed over him, easing the mania of his lust and bringing him back to himself. A centering of emotion, a core formed from affection and steadfast loyalty, the illumination brought by a hope, by good will, by an unwavering faith in his goodness.

    Harald drew back, the blood lust not fading altogether, but dimming.

    Vic caught his balance, blinked, and then sank immediately into his guard.

    Harald could hold his Abilities no more: the Umbral Aegis and Abyssal Attunement faded away even as Dark Vigor snuffed out, causing the gray, smoky flames that had wreathed his form to disappear.

    ¡°The angels wept,¡± said Vic, reaching up to dab at his nose and then check his fingers for blood. ¡°Harald, that was positively frightening. Were you trying to cut off my head with those energy attacks?¡±

    ¡°No.¡± Harald was breathing powerfully, but he turned to glance back at the patio, where Sam had risen to her feet and moved to stand at its edge. Her Beacon of Hope yet suffused him, and her gaze was intent. ¡°That was my Demonic Edge Ability. I was missing on purpose to knock you off balance.¡±

    ¡°Oh good,¡± said Vic, rising from his stance. His expression turned outraged. ¡°You kneed me in the face.¡±

    ¡°Not that it seemed to do much.¡±

    ¡°Well, of course not. My Body of Steel is probably as good as your shadow armor. Probably. But still. That felt personal.¡±

    ¡°How did you do it?¡± Harald propped his blade on his shoulder as both women descended to join them. ¡°No matter how hard I pressed you, I couldn¡¯t get through your guard.¡±

    ¡°Of course you couldn¡¯t.¡± Vic smiled, and in truth he looked completely unhurt. ¡°I am as uniquely suited for winning duels as I am at unlocking boudoir doors. Inherent Alertness bestows upon me a near preternatural sense of awareness, and Web of Steel grants me endless ripostes and parries that weave, indeed, a web around me.¡± Vic sniffed one last time, touched his nose, then grinned. ¡°And even if you should land a blow -¡±

    ¡°Which he did,¡± said Nessa dryly.

    ¡°Even if that impossibility should happen, why, Body of Steel will help me shrug it off.¡± Vic grinned. ¡°But while I¡¯d usually love nothing more than talk endlessly about myself, let¡¯s talk about you. What was that fabulous get up you wove from darkness itself?¡±

    Harald grinned. ¡°Umbral Aegis. It¡¯s a huge drain on my Thrones, though. I can¡¯t keep it up for long.¡±

    Nessa grinned. ¡°Oh Harald. You make it too easy.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Harald blinked. ¡°Especially if I unleash Demonic Edge. I can only manage one or two of those strikes before I¡¯m drained dry.¡±

    ¡°He does, doesn¡¯t he?¡± grinned Vic. ¡°But well done, Harry. Well done! Though I was clearly vastly superior when it came to actual fencing, you excelled at brute, ugly brawling. And toward the end there, your expression: terrifying. I barely recognized you. If I hadn¡¯t known better¡­¡±

    ¡°Yes, well.¡± Harald scratched the back of his head and glanced sidelong at Sam. ¡°I¡¯m glad I came to my senses there.¡±

    Nessa was studying him. ¡°I¡¯d love to test how strong your shadow armor is. I didn¡¯t see it crack from Vic¡¯s blow to your side.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s strong, but not impervious. I was fighting¡­ what was I fighting. Hobgoblins, I think it was, and one landed a huge blow¡ªno! It was a goblin boss. Was it a goblin boss?¡±

    The other three just stared at him.

    ¡°Actually, wait, it was hobgoblin arrows. I took three or four to the chest, and the Aegis¡¯s cuirass cracked. The arrows bounced off, but a little more and I think it would have shattered.¡±

    Nessa¡¯s expression was deadpan. ¡°You took three hobgoblin arrows to the chest?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re doing it wrong,¡± added Vic. ¡°You¡¯re supposed to avoid them.¡±

    ¡°Unless you were testing your armor in the most stupid way possible?¡± asked Nessa.

    ¡°Um, no, it absolutely wasn¡¯t deliberate¡­?¡± Harald grinned. It felt so good to have the Beacon of Hope washing over him. ¡°That would be, ah, complete madness. Maybe they just surprised me. Anyway, my point being that the Aegis scales to my number of Thrones. It¡¯s not impervious to all damage.¡±

    ¡°Still, I¡¯d like to test it.¡±

    Sam shook her head. ¡°But that energy attack of yours. That looked¡­ terrifying. The very air was warping around it.¡±

    ¡°Amazing, right?¡± Harald grinned. ¡°I¡¯ve got a range of about ten yards, give or take, but it can cut inches deep into a tree. I can unleash it while closing with the enemy, then while they¡¯re reeling finish the job.¡±

    ¡°I nearly wet myself when you hurled that first one at me,¡± said Vic. ¡°Having it flash by so close felt incredibly¡­ this might sound strange, but¡­ dirty? And not in the way that I like.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s called Demonic Edge,¡± said Harald heavily. ¡°I know what you mean. The Demon Seed was really active during that level, and I think it¡¯s fully corrupting the class now.¡±

    Sam reached out and squeezed his shoulder.

    ¡°Regardless, it looks like an incredibly potent attack,¡± said Nessa. ¡°We should compare it to my Crescent Arc, which, I¡¯ll have you note, I only earned at 4th Level.¡±

    ¡°Sure. I think that all sounds good. We¡¯ve got the whole day till we head out for dinner with Countess Sonora, don¡¯t we?¡±

    ¡°Enough time for me to get horribly drunk,¡± muttered Vic. ¡°To allow Harald to land two blows on me during a duel¡­ I¡¯m losing my edge.¡±

    ¡°You lost it a long time ago, old man,¡± grinned Nessa. ¡°But if you humble up and start training? Maybe you¡¯ll get it back.¡±

    ¡°Humble up?¡± Vic stared at Nessa, aghast. ¡°Other than a little rust on my dueling skills, what on earth is there to be humble about?¡±

    Harald grinned and carried their training blades back to the ag. Sam trailed after, her Beacon of Hope finally fading away.

    She didn¡¯t say anything, but she didn¡¯t need to. He crouched, stowed the swords, then looked up at her.

    ¡°Thanks,¡± he said.

    ¡°Of course.¡±

    They held each other¡¯s gaze, and Harald felt a sudden and overwhelming urge to just rise and hug her.

    But that wouldn¡¯t feel right, not with her struggling so hard to find herself, to carve out her own independence.

    So he just held her gaze, feeling warm, feeling¡­ seen, and when she nodded and walked away, he inhaled deeply and just watched her go.

    One of his uncertainties had been quelled.

    Having Sam close by was going to make all the difference in the long run.

 Major Updates up to Chapter 47

    As promised, today I''m going to share the major updates that I''ve made to the story up till Chapter 47.

    The big beats and plot elements all remain roughly the same, with only a few major edits that are meant to enhance pacing and tension.

    The Book #1 that I''ll be releasing on Amazon encompasses the first 47 chapters (150k words), and now ends with Harald''s duel with Yeoric. This duel is set up by a visit from Lucine, the half-elf who raids with Yeoric, and whose affections Harald thought he might win before the book''s start:

    LUCINE SETS THE TERMS OF THE DUEL

    Vic emerged from the kitchen, lips compressed in distaste. ¡°Harald, you have a visitor. One of your former compatriots? She¡¯s wishes to inform you as to the details of the duel.¡±

    ¡°Lucine?¡± Harald felt a bitter flood of negative emotions. ¡°Great. You put her in the parlor?¡±

    ¡°What I want to know,¡± demanded Vic, ¡°is when I swapped Rapier Regent for Majordomo. I¡¯m willing to cook, I¡¯d go so far as to say I¡¯ve discovered a new talent, but answering doors -¡±

    ¡°Thanks, Vic.¡± Harald patted the man on the shoulder as he stepped past him. ¡°You¡¯ll get a nice Silver Starburst bonus at the end of the month.¡±

    ¡°I - what?¡± Vic spluttered even as Nessa¡¯s laughter trailed Harald into the house.

    The half-elf was making her way around the parlor, hands linked behind her back, lips pursed as she studied the old paintings. She sensed Harald¡¯s appearance at the door, and turned with that enviable grace that was a heritage of her lineage.

    ¡°Harald.¡± Her tone was cold, her beautiful visage marred by distaste. ¡°Shall we keep this quick? Yeoric asked that I inform you as to the particulars of the duel. So that there can be no claims to a misunderstanding on your part.¡±

    ¡°Lucine.¡± Harald entered the parlor and crossed his arms over his chest. ¡°Go ahead, then.¡±

    But her distaste was momentarily interrupted by a more complex emotion as she studied him. Surprise? Confusion?

    Ah. She was noticing how he¡¯d changed.

    Head quirked to one side, she tapped her chin as she approached, brows furrowed. ¡°Harald. You look¡­¡±

    Harald raised an eyebrow, prompting her to finish her statement, but she changed tack.

    ¡°Have you accepted patronage from another House?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s none of your business, Lucine.¡±

    Her eyes narrowed in annoyance. Had he once thought their green depths so peerlessly beautiful? Now she seemed little more than a shallow creature, her emotions all too readable, her gaze lacking depth. ¡°Very well. No matter. Yeoric wishes to keep the duel quick so that it doesn¡¯t interrupt our schedule. We¡¯re planning to make a dungeon run around Tenth Bell, so you¡¯re to report to the Dueling Circles at Eighth. You¡¯ll forfeit the match if you¡¯re more than five minutes late.¡±

    ¡°Not a problem,¡± said Harald, keeping his annoyance under control. ¡°Eighth Bell at the Dueling Circles.¡±

    Lucine couldn¡¯t stop studying him. Her gaze flicked up and down, then lingered on his torso, his shoulders perhaps. ¡°Yes. The terms are as follows: no Artifacts, no Servitors, and the winner is decided by forcing their opponent to submit or knocking them out. No friends, retainers, or familiars may interfere in any way with the duel, and if said interference is detected, the offending party forfeits the duel and the stakes double.¡±

    Harald inclined his head. ¡°Sounds good.¡±

    Lucine paused, clearly having expected complaint. Ah. She¡¯d suspected he¡¯d planned to win by cheating. Classy.

    ¡°No scales may be used during the fight to effect healing, and there¡¯s to be no blood price allowed in the case of accidental death.¡± Lucine¡¯s eyes glimmered. ¡°If you enter the Circle, none may legally seek reparations for what happens inside. Understood, Harald?¡±

    ¡°Sure.¡± Again Lucine frowned, taken aback. She went to speak, but he cut her off. ¡°I¡¯m adding a clause of my own, however. The loser must formally bow to the victor  - if they¡¯re still capable, I guess - and formally declare before the witnesses that the winner is the greater fighter in every way.¡±

    Lucine sneered. ¡°You wish to underscore your humiliation? Fine. I can¡¯t imagine in what world Yeoric would have a problem with that addition. Honestly, Harald, I can¡¯t imagine -¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t care.¡± Lucine¡¯s eyes widened in outrage, but Harald spoke over her. ¡°I don¡¯t care what you think. If you¡¯re done delivering the terms, get off my property.¡±

    ¡°With pleasure.¡± She drew herself up and strode past him toward the front door, where she paused to spin about and glare at him. ¡°I can¡¯t wait to see you grovel, Harald. I don¡¯t know how you¡¯ve cheated these past few weeks, but it won¡¯t matter. Yeoric is going to hurt you so badly that you¡¯ll -¡±

    ¡°Lucine.¡± Harald narrowed his eyes and began striding toward her. ¡°Get out.¡±

    Something in his expression silenced her tongue. She flushed, yanked open the door, and then was gone.

    Harald sighed and pressed his brow to the wooden panels after he swung it shut.

    Shame and anger roiled within him. Old memories, old regrets. His half-boiled hopes, his foolish vanity. How had he ever considered Yeoric¡¯s crew his means of salvation?

    No matter.

    At Eighth Bell the day after tomorrow it would all be resolved.

    But the fuse of his anger was lit now. Lucine had brought it all crashing back. Harald scowled. Yeoric didn¡¯t want the duel to inconvenience his plans for tomorrow, did he?

    Well then. Harald would have to make his defeat quick.

    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    Further, his discussion with his friends after discovering his father''s hoard has been simplified and enhanced, such that he immediately offers to create their new group, the Throne Hunters, and distribute his newfound wealth through the crew, an offer which disarms Vic''s suspicions and appeals to Nessa''s professionalism.

    As such, there''s no longer that scene where Harald''s attempt at generosity is rebuffed. Here is the scene, which continues through the End of Chapter 44 and into Chapter 45:

    END OF CHAPTER 44

    It took them till the Second Bell in the afternoon for the auction men to finally depart and Vic to hustle them all downstairs. He insisted on bringing wine in order to celebrate whatever decision Harald had made, convinced, as he told them several times, that it was the one and only correct decision.

    Sam stood apart from the others, her smile pained, Nessa¡¯s welcome and Vic¡¯s wink doing little to put her at ease. She deflected Vic¡¯s questions, promising to answer later, and he was easily dissuaded.

    So that finally they were gathered in the small chamber by scale-light, clustered in a tight knot.

    ¡°Sam needs to read my father¡¯s letter first,¡± said Harald firmly.

    ¡°Another five minutes¡¯ delay?¡± Vic sagged back against the wall. ¡°My heart. It can¡¯t take it. I feel faint.¡±

    ¡°Oh please, do faint,¡± said Nessa dryly. ¡°That¡¯ll give us at least a couple of minutes¡¯ silence.¡±

    Vic scowled exaggeratedly at her.

    Sam took the four sheets of parchment and set to reading.

    Harald couldn¡¯t help but watch her expressions with intent interest. She didn¡¯t disappoint. Dismay, shock, horror. She¡¯d glance up at him on occasion, eyes wide, only to dive back in. When she was finally done, she set the parchments down, hands shaking, and covered her mouth.

    ¡°I know. I¡¯ve had days to try and come to terms with it all, and it only gets worse the more I think about it.¡± Harald crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. ¡°This Demon Seed will undo me unless I fight it with everything I¡¯ve got, and even then that won¡¯t be enough. It¡¯s too powerful. My father was a strong man, he was Darius fucking Darrowdelve, and even he couldn¡¯t stomach what it promised him, how it wanted to change him.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t have to do anything,¡± said Sam quietly. ¡°You can just stop. Never go back down into the dungeon again.¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s not get crazy here,¡± cut in Vic. ¡°He definitely has to do something, especially with that scale. In fact¡ª¡±

    ¡°I want to fight.¡± Harald spoke to Sam, their gazes locked. ¡°Maybe it¡¯s due to my new Nature, or maybe my new Nature just reflects who I am now. But I¡¯m not going to run.¡±

    ¡°You want to avenge your mother?¡± asked Nessa quietly.

    ¡°More than that. I¡¯ve this foolish memory of myself as a child¡ª¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve got those,¡± interjected Vic sympathetically.

    ¡°¡ªwhere I tell my mother why I want to be strong.¡± Harald smiled ruefully. ¡°It made sense to me when I was six, and only just started ringing true once more. I want to be strong to help others. To help everyone in Flutic who has no idea as to what¡¯s going on with this celestial war. To help that angel I saw. To help you three. I want to make a difference, but to do that I have to be strong. And for better or worse, I¡¯ve got this Demon Seed now. So I have to find a way to master it.¡±

    Sam was slowly shaking her head in horror.

    ¡°I know I can¡¯t succeed without you three. The fates have thrown us together. Our past has been¡­¡± Harald sought the right world.

    ¡°Fucked up,¡± said Sam.

    ¡°Insincere,¡± offered Vic.

    ¡°Based on manipulation and lies,¡± said Nessa.

    ¡°Complicated.¡± Harald forced a smile. ¡°But it doesn¡¯t need to continue that way. These past few weeks have been intense for all of us. But for better or worse, they¡¯ve brought us to a turning point. We can resolve to move forward together, to fight to be our best selves, or we can fragment, splinter, let our weaknesses govern us, and fall away into the darkness.¡±

    ¡°I love it when he gets like this,¡± Vic whispered to Sam. ¡°It¡¯s so inspiring.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m serious.¡± Harald looked from one to the next. ¡°I can¡¯t do this alone. My father literally said as much. I¡¯ll fail and be corrupted by the Seed without even realizing it. Vic was right about needing to think long term, in needing to invest in strategies that will bear fruit down the road instead of going for immediate gratification today.¡±

    ¡°Excellent!¡± Vic pumped his fist. ¡°Harald, you¡¯re not going to regret this¡ª¡±

    ¡°Hear me out, Vic.¡±

    Vic froze.

    ¡°That¡¯s why I¡¯ve decided to split the Infinitum. I¡¯m going to pay Lady Sonora her Horizon¡¯s Whisper to clear my debt, then absorb a Whisper and Ascend to my Second Throne so that I can crush Yeoric. Then I¡¯m going to give two to Sam as thanks for all the sacrifices she¡¯s made so she can also Ascend to her second. I¡¯ll then split pour the remaining six Whispers into the creation of our own official raiding crew. We acquire our own charter, our own dungeon writ, and I¡¯ll deed the Artifacts to the company, which then loans them each of us for as long as we¡¯re in good standing with the crew.¡±

    Nessa¡¯s face turned pale. Vic eyes widened. Sam simply stared at him as if he¡¯d started spouting elvish.

    ¡°I was thinking we could use the scales to create a crew fund from which we each get paid a salary, or something. A monthly payment of some kind.¡± And here Harald gave a pained smile. ¡°That way we can all use these resources to Ascend together, and then continue to train together, to raid together, and to help each other grow. I want to become a hero out of legend, a true monster when it comes to power¡ªbut not that kind of monster. Which is why I¡¯m asking you three to walk with me. To, as my father said, keep my aim true.¡±

    Harald took a deep, shaky breath, and forced himself to keep smiling. ¡°So. What do you guys think?¡±

    BEGINNING OF CHAPTER 45

    His three friends simply stared at them.

    Vic recovered first. ¡°Wait. You¡¯re telling me that you¡¯re voluntarily giving up six hundred thousands scales?¡±

    ¡°Investing,¡± corrected Harald.

    Vic pressed the tips of his fingers against his temples. ¡°My mind. It hurts. I can¡¯t understand anyone being so selfless.¡±

    Nessa¡¯s eyes were shining. ¡°He has his reasons, Vic. Recall his father¡¯s advice?¡±

    ¡°Harald.¡± Sam had placed her hand over her mouth. ¡°You¡¯re serious?¡±

    ¡°About your two scales? Most of all. Perhaps it should be more, I don¡¯t know. I¡¯m open to hearing what you all think. But Sam. What you were forced to do. For so many years.¡± Harald felt emotion swell in his throat, making his voice hoarse. ¡°No amount can ever make that right.¡±

    ¡°I think two Horizon¡¯s is plenty,¡± cut in Vic. ¡°Let¡¯s not get carried away here. You¡¯re quite grateful, aren¡¯t you Sam?¡±

    Sam ignored him. ¡°Thank you, Harald. I¡­¡± She hung her head. ¡°I appreciate what you¡¯re trying to do.¡±

    ¡°Trying?¡± asked Harald, surprised. ¡°It¡¯s a done deal. The scales are yours as soon as we break this Infinitum.¡±

    ¡°No, I mean¡­¡± Sam struggled to find the words, a flush rising to her cheeks. ¡°These past few days. I¡¯ve been struggling to define myself. To become my own person.¡± She glanced at Vic and Nessa, clearly embarrassed, but forged on. ¡°And part of that decision was to become independent. To not owe anybody anything ever again.¡±

    ¡°Oh, I see,¡± said Nessa. ¡°You¡¯re worried these two scales will make you feel indebted to Harry.¡±

    ¡°I know that¡¯s not what he intends,¡± said Sam hurriedly. ¡°It¡¯s a beautiful gesture. But¡­ yes. It¡¯s just¡­ it¡¯s just so much wealth.¡±

    ¡°Sam.¡± Harald fought the urge to step forward and take her hand. ¡°It¡¯s not a gift. You earned this. And more. I¡¯m just trying to make right, on some level, what was done to you.¡±

    Sam nodded, obviously still feeling conflicted.

    ¡°Sam, darling. Let Uncle Vic help.¡± Vic put his arm around her shoulders. ¡°Think of it this way, why don¡¯t you: you¡¯re no longer a Majordomo of House Darrowdelve. You¡¯re instead a raider extraordinaire in possession of a Divine ranked soul. Harry recognizes your unique worth, and no doubt feels terrible for having held you back. This is his meager way of setting you back on the path you should have been walking for years now if you hadn¡¯t been so awfully inconvenienced.¡±

    Sam raised both brows, considering Vic¡¯s words.

    ¡°The scales are yours if you want them,¡± said Harald. ¡°But you¡¯re not obligated.¡±

    ¡°You can fashion them as a sign-on bonus,¡± suggested Nessa. ¡°For joining the crew. She could no doubt earn far more by joining any of the major Houses. This could be your way of cajoling a Divine-ranked soul into joining us instead.¡±

    Sam stepped out from under Vic¡¯s arm. ¡°Please, everyone. Just let me think about it for a moment.¡±

    ¡°Sure,¡± said Vic. ¡°I for one have no problem joining this suddenly wealthy crew. You mentioned salaries? How are those to be determined?¡±

    ¡°We can figure all that out,¡± said Harald, watching Sam with concern as she bit her lower lip and stared to the side. ¡°I want this to feel equitable. To feel right. I want you all to feel valued and important to the crew, because you are. But first I need to break down this scale. I need to pay Sonora.¡±

    ¡°You could just wait till tomorrow morning,¡± said Vic. ¡°The duel is almost upon you.¡±

    ¡°No. I¡¯m like Sam in this, I want no debts over my head. Do you think the countess could break the Infinitum for us?¡±

    ¡°And thereby allow you to avoid the banking commission? No, sadly. She¡¯s not got the wealth, I fear, to tie so much up in a single scale. But I¡¯m not terrible at negotiating rates. If you trust me with the Infinitum, I¡¯ll see to it that it¡¯s broken fairly and at the lowest commission.¡±

    Harald went to make a cutting joke, but Vic was studying him with unusual seriousness. ¡°Sure. Thanks, Vic.¡±

    And he placed the Infinitum in his friend¡¯s palm.

    ¡°Wow,¡± said Vic, glancing up from the precious scale to meet Harald¡¯s gaze. ¡°Just like that?¡±

    ¡°Just like that.¡± Harald nodded. ¡°We¡¯re to become a crew. If we¡¯re to rise together, there must be trust. From hereon out, that¡¯s how it¡¯s going to be. You all have my complete trust.¡±

    ¡°Careful,¡± said Nessa.

    ¡°I mean it. But Vic? If you could get me that Horizon¡¯s Whisper today? I¡¯d like to Ascend before I face Yeoric tomorrow. He asked that we make the duel quick. He¡¯s got business to attend to, right after.¡±

    ¡°Ha!¡± Vic grinned, delighted. ¡°Does he now? Well. I¡¯d hate to inconvenience the poor man. I¡¯ll hie me down to the bank right now. The conversion rate rises the greater the value of the scale.  Standard rates for an Infinitum are somewhere around 2 - 3%. I¡¯ll do my best to knock that down, but expect, oh, I don¡¯t know, some three Zenith Tides to be deducted from the final amount.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve seen you work Master Ling,¡± said Harald. ¡°I pity the bank teller.¡±

    Vic closed his fist around the scale, winked at Harald, and jogged up the steps and out of sight.

    Harald glanced at Nessa. ¡°And you? You all right with this arrangement?¡±

    ¡°Darling, I¡¯ve been propositioned more times than I can remember, but never to the tune of so many scales. I feel positively flattered.¡± Nessa¡¯s smile didn¡¯t touch her eyes. ¡°But the demons are, as they say, in the details. I¡¯ll be wanting to see this charter before I get too excited.¡±

    ¡°I plan to study my father¡¯s own arrangements,¡± said Harald. ¡°There are copies of his charter upstairs.¡±

    ¡°Then I¡¯m sure I¡¯ll be more than satisfied.¡± Nessa inclined her head. ¡°With that much wealth you could hire on other veterans. Grow the crew.¡±

    ¡°No, I want it to be just us four for now. No random strangers.¡± Harald took a deep breath. ¡°I¡¯ll get to work on the charter after my duel with Yeoric.¡±

    ¡°Then I¡¯ll await you upstairs,¡± said Nessa. ¡°Today¡¯s your last day before your duel. Some final words of wisdom are probably in order.¡±

    And then she, too, left.

    Sam was hugging herself tightly, but with Nessa and Vic gone, she finally forced herself to meet Harald¡¯s eyes. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. For not being more appreciative.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t apologize.¡±

    ¡°I know. I know I shouldn¡¯t. But I also know you, Harald. I know where this is coming from. A place of love, of fear, of desperation, of - of - friendship. This crew of ours. There¡¯ll be no going back. Vorakhar, Eclavistra, all the others. We¡¯ll be involved in the celestial war.¡±

    Harald nodded slowly. ¡°You will.¡±

    Sam gave a despairing laugh. ¡°And for some reason that doesn¡¯t terrify me as I should.¡±

    ¡°Maybe it¡¯s because you¡¯ve got that Divine soul rank. Because you¡¯re now the Brightest Star. Because you¡¯re a Netherwarden Knight. Maybe in the thick of a celestial war is where you belong.¡±

    ¡°Madness,¡± whispered Sam, her eyes glazing over momentarily as she considered, and then she shook her head and focused on him again. ¡°But yes. Maybe it is. You and me both.¡±

    ¡°You and me, Sam.¡± He extended his hand.

    She took it, eyes brimming with tears, and wordlessly they shook on his proposal and their future.

    -----------------------------------------

    Harald then Ascends to his Second Throne, a scene that previously took place before their big Dungeon Delve to fight the Crypt Keepers, and upon awakening, ends Chapter 45 with a conversation with Nessa:

    END OF CHAPTER 45

    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    Thrones: 2/7 (Throne of Harmony, Throne of Shadows)

    Scales: 112,064/1,000,000

    Harald couldn¡¯t help but grin as he sat up.

    ¡°I have to give it to you,¡± said Nessa, arms looped around her shins, head canted to one side. ¡°When Vic told me about your duel I thought you were a dead man walking. Teaching you the sword was more an act of pity than faith.¡±

    Harald¡¯s grin remained, her words buoying his spirits nearly as much as his newly Ascended Throne. ¡°But now?¡±

    ¡°Now?¡± She frowned at him. ¡°I barely recognize you. An Abyssal Initiate with two Ascended Thrones. Strength 11, Dexterity 9, Constitution 12. If I hadn¡¯t witnessed your growth with my own eyes, I¡¯d not believe it.¡±

    ¡°You should have seen Lucine¡¯s expression when she came to set terms,¡± laughed Harald.

    ¡°I can well imagine. But let me bring you gently back to ground now. Yeoric¡¯s physical stats were Strength 13, Dexterity 12, Constitution 14.¡±

    ¡°Were?¡±

    Nessa¡¯s gaze became pitying. ¡°Those were his stats when last recorded by the Free Company almost a year ago. He¡¯s been raiding since, hasn¡¯t he?¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± said Harald.

    ¡°For all we know, he might be third level. He might have Ascended to his Second Throne as well. Don¡¯t go into this fight with any assumptions, Harald.¡±

    ¡°Sure, of course.¡± Harald fought to keep the reality check from lowering his spirits. ¡°But I¡¯m an Abyssal Initiate. I¡¯m powered by Vorakhar¡¯s Demon Seed. He¡¯s just an Iron Vanguard.¡±

    ¡°Who no doubt has far more experience with actual combat and dueling than you do. But I¡¯ve made my point. Don¡¯t think your victory is guaranteed. Far from it. You¡¯re going to have to do everything within your power to surprise him, create an opening, and then take full advantage of it. His Actives and Passives combined with his higher Constitution mean he¡¯ll wear you down faster than you will him.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t discount my Aura of the Aching Depths.¡±

    ¡°Fair point. But don¡¯t rely on it to do all your work either. Your Abyssal Attunement is next to useless if you can¡¯t land a blow, and his entire power set revolves around defense. Hence the strategy I¡¯m going to suggest.¡±

    Harald leaned forward. ¡°To defeat him?¡±

    Nessa¡¯s smile turned wicked. ¡°But of course. Were I in your boots, here¡¯s what I would do. Now listen carefully. Once you understand, we¡¯ve only one afternoon left to train.¡±

    ¡°We can train into the evening,¡± protested Harald.

    ¡°No. You¡¯re going to rest and sleep well. Being refreshed and sharp will count for far more than a few extra hours¡¯ practice.¡±

    Harald frowned.

    ¡°Up!¡± Nessa rose smoothly to her feet. ¡°Fetch a training blade. We¡¯ll make the most of the remaining hours. Don¡¯t you worry.¡±

    Harald jogged over to the sword bag. His heart pounded, his thoughts whirled. He wanted to feel eager, confident, ready for tomorrow¡¯s battle. He felt lethal, felt dangerous, felt ready to crush Yeoric with overwhelming power.

    But Nessa¡¯s words of caution rang in his mind, so as he crouched by the bag to draw out the weapons, he forced himself to exhale, to steady his nerves, and focus.

    All he had now was a fighting chance.

    Nothing less, nothing more.

    -------------------------------------------------------------

    From there, we roll right into the next Chapter, where Harald at last has his duel with Yeoric:

    Chapter 46

    Harald, Vic, Nessa, and Sam arrived at the Dueling Circles well before Eighth Bell. The morning was dark and damp, dawn having broken imperceptibly behind dour clouds. A constant drizzle misted down from the sky, soaking into everything. Colors were darkened, sounds muffled. The air had a mineral tang laced with smoke.

    The Dueling Circles was a great circular building without a roof. Four stories tall, it took up an entire city block where the Angelus Quarter met the Merchant¡¯s Quarter. Gray stone blocks, alcoves in which pigeon-shitted statues of former heroes and warriors stood. The area before each entrance was usually choked with vendors and costermongers, but as Harald led the way up he saw that the building was practically deserted.

    ¡°Well,¡± said Vic, tone consoling. ¡°It¡¯s early. And word hasn¡¯t really gotten out yet as to just how amazing you are. And it¡¯s raining.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t want a crowd,¡± said Harald. ¡°This won¡¯t take long, anyway.¡±

    ¡°Good man!¡± Vic shook his shoulder and turned to beam at Nessa. ¡°Scary.¡±

    A couple of guards with dismal expressions stood by the closest entrance, a grand archway easily three yards in height. Broad enough for ten men to march through, it dwarfed both guards, who hunched under their oilskins and watched Harald¡¯s band approach with an impressive lack of enthusiasm.

    ¡°We¡¯re not being paid enough to give you the proper greeting,¡± said one as they drew close. ¡°Just go on in and do what the Adjudicator tells you, yeah?¡±

    ¡°Right on,¡± said Harald. ¡°Hope your shift ends soon.¡±

    ¡°Not soon enough,¡± sniffed the other guard, his stare never leaving the middle distance.

    They passed through the grand archway, and entered the grounds contained within the walls. To call the Dueling Circles a building wasn¡¯t quite right; it had more in common with a walled park than anything else, despite the few smaller stone buildings set against the inside wall. The grounds were of crushed gravel and contained six great circles demarcated by thick braided ropes that were pitoned in place.

    All were empty.

    A cluster of people stood by the closest one, and though Harald was early, the crowd glared at him as if he¡¯d kept them waiting for an entire Bell.

    ¡°Dueling¡¯s not the pastime it used to be,¡± said Vic. ¡°Once this place was humming with activity at all bells, filled with shouts and screams and the splashing of blood? Now? Depressing.¡±

    Harald led the way to the waiting crowd. The gravel crunched under his boots. Now that he was here, now that the duel was finally happening, a sense of peace suffused him, the tension and nerves that had riddled his morning with barely restrained energy finally dissipating.

    ¡°Adjudicator,¡± said Harald, nodding to the judge as he stopped before him.

    The man had the air of a gravedigger, his lantern-jaw clean shaved but iron gray, his eyes magnified behind his glasses. Dressed in official white robes, he was tall, boney, dour, and clearly displeased to be out in the rain at this early hour. An assistant held a massive umbrella over his head. ¡°Sir Darrowdelve, you¡¯ve come, very good, very good.¡±

    Beside him stood Yeoric and his crew. The large warrior seemed mountainous under the huge oilskin cloak that was pulled protectively around his half-plate armor. He stared morosely at Harald, then scowled up at the skies. ¡°I must admit I¡¯m surprised, Harald. Pleasantly so. I¡¯d half started to believe you¡¯d be late on purpose just so as to make us stand in the rain. I¡¯m glad you proved me wrong.¡±

    The man¡¯s voice was resonant, his bearing noble.

    All a farce.

    Lucine was all but pouting under her peaked hood, while Derrek looked to be nursing one of his customary hangovers, his face pallid and pasty. Only Gazurn the dwarf seemed indifferent to the moment and the weather, one hand resting on the head of his warhammer, the other arm hidden under his forest-green cloak.

    ¡°Shall we get to it, then?¡± Harald kept his gaze on the Adjudicator. ¡°I¡¯m ready when you are.¡±

    ¡°So eager,¡± said Yeoric, voice tightening with annoyance. ¡°Reminds me of how quickly you offered to fund our outfit. No questions asked, almost. Look where your eagerness has gotten you.¡±

    Harald continued to ignore the man, gaze resting on the judge, who sighed and nodded and gestured toward the Circle. ¡°We¡¯ll begin as soon as we sign the proper forms. I¡¯ve as little interest in dragging this out as anyone else.¡±

    ¡°Very good,¡± said Harald.

    The Adjudicator drew out a sheaf of papers from a leather satchel. ¡°If you¡¯ll just sign a few pages? Master Yeoric has already done so.¡±

    ¡°If I may?¡± Vic slid in before Harald could take the papers, stepping under the broad umbrella. ¡°I¡¯ll just cast a quick look over the terms, shall I?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re a barrister?¡± asked the judge with a frown.

    ¡°Oh, you insult me,¡± murmured Vic, scanning the first page then flipping it. ¡°Nothing so formal. A connoisseur of people and their worst natures, their highest yearnings, their propensity for thinking themselves smarter than they really are. Like Yeoric here. Right, darling?¡± And he gave the huge warrior a wink.

    Yeoric shook his head with a long-suffering expression and doffed his oilskin cloak, handing it to Derrek and stepping into the Circle where he began to swing his arms in large circles.

    ¡°All good,¡± said Vic, finishing the last page. ¡°Customary and professional. Delightful. Sign away, Harald.¡±

    Who took a brass pen, dipped it in the assistant¡¯s ink pot, then signed his initials on each page and his signature on the last page.

    ¡°Now, to be clear Sir Darrowdelve, the blood price has been waived,¡± said the Adjudicator as the papers were placed back in the satchel. ¡°You are quite aware of that fact?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± said Harald. ¡°I am. Vic, my clause was entered?¡±

    ¡°It was,¡± agreed Vic.

    ¡°Then you may enter the Circle,¡± said the Adjudicator. ¡°I will commence the duel precisely when the Eighth Bell finishes ringing.¡±

    Harald handed his cloak to Sam. The wet drizzle immediately began to soak against the back of his neck.

    ¡°Get him,¡± whispered Sam, squeezing Harald¡¯s upper arm strongly. ¡°Show him who you really are.¡±

    ¡°Stick him with the pointy end,¡± added Vic. ¡°And don¡¯t let him do the same to you.¡±

    Harald snorted despite himself, then turned to Nessa who¡¯d hung back. ¡°Here I go.¡±

    ¡°Here you go,¡± she said with an enigmatic smile. ¡°You¡¯ve done everything humanly possible to prepare for this moment. And more. Remember what we discussed.¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡± He took a deep breath, and when she nodded encouragingly, Harald stepped into the Circle and moved to stand across from Yeoric.

    Nobody spoke.

    The crowd was sparse. Vic, Nessa, and Sam stood to one side.

    Yeoric watched him with a smug smile as he warmed up. The rain drizzled down between them, causing the gravel to take on a metallic sheen. Any moment now the Eighth Bell would begin.

    Harald didn¡¯t feel the need to stretch, but he went through the motions regardless. Twisted from side to side, hugged one knee to his chest, than the other. He wore his old leather armor, battered and mauled as it was. Sam had suggested chain, perhaps even a breastplate, but Harald had demurred. He needed to be quick on his feet. To be light. But more than that, he¡¯d only ever trained with his leather armor. It was too late to throw in something heavier into the equation.

    Yeoric¡¯s smile was smug, his gaze flat and heavy. No doubt flickered in the depths of those dark eyes. Despite Harald¡¯s growth, despite how he¡¯d changed, Yeoric it seemed still saw him as the sweating, apologizing, over-eager youth he¡¯d been only a month ago.

    Hard to blame him, really.

    But that was perfect.

    That was just what Harald wanted.

    ¡°We can call this off, if you like,¡± said Yeoric abruptly. ¡°There¡¯s no need to go through with this farce. Just concede the loss, agree to pay the remaining Aurora, and we can walk away from this nonsense. There might be some honor in taking a beating for your pride, but no intelligence.¡±

    Harald didn¡¯t answer. Vic had tried to convince him to mislead Yeoric further by acting like his old self, pretending to be nervous, saying stupid things.

    But no.

    ¡°I should thank you, actually,¡± Harald said, a thought occurring to him. ¡°Without you, without your backstabbing me and robbing me in broad daylight, none of this would have come to pass.¡±

    Yeoric paused, confused. ¡°Thank me? That¡¯s mighty broad-sighted of you. If you¡¯d gone into the dungeon, you would have surely died.¡±

    Harald thought of the dire rats, Vorakhar leaning down to grin into Harald¡¯s dying eyes. ¡°You don¡¯t know how right you are.¡±

    ¡°Then shall we stop pretending? This rain¡¯s going to rust my armor no matter how quickly I put you down.¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s give it a whirl,¡± said Harald, rolling his head about on his neck so that it popped. ¡°You never know what might happen.¡±

    Yeoric sighed and shook his head. ¡°You dumb idiot. Fine. It¡¯s your funeral.¡±

    The Eighth Bell tolled its first peal.

    Harald ceased stretching and drew his blade, heart thundering in his chest.

    Yeoric stared at the live steel and grinned. Made no move to draw his own.

    Harald resisted a grimace. Now the other man was going to make a big show of drawing his blade nonchalantly at the last second.

    And his anger began to rouse. The man feigned nobility of character, of being a grave and solemn warrior with a moral code, but he was nothing but a mugger. An opportunist and a bully.

    Harald felt himself still as his anger rose higher and higher within him like the flames of a bonfire. And though he still felt nervous, worried, possibly even scared, for the first time he felt something entirely new: excitement.

    The moment was finally here.

    All his training.

    All the pain. The sacrifices. The lessons. The raiding.

    Every moment of sweat and labor, of burning muscles and bone-deep exhaustion.

    All the hours, the weeks that he¡¯d pushed himself to his limit.

    All of it in service to this one moment.

    The seventh toll sounded across the city, a medley of bells singing from every Seraphite church.

    ¡°Ready!¡± called out the Adjudicator.

    The eighth toll pealed out, and Yeoric finally deigned to draw his broadsword, bending his knee and sinking into a Tower stance.

    Harald held his blade back in the Tail, and he felt so light, so feverish, so ready to explode.

    ¡°Begin!¡± cried the Adjudicator as the final peal faded away.

    Yeoric advanced, expression grim, formidable and massive in the morning gloom. Harald gave ground, moving out wide. The man didn¡¯t have an aura, but his Thunderstrike was the next best thing, an area of effect attack that would catch Harald no matter what he did.

    Unless, of course, Yeoric had taken the last few months seriously and leveled up.

    Harald felt both his Thrones thrumming deep in his Cosmos, begging to be tapped. Deep reserves of power that he held at bay despite all temptation.

    Not yet.

    Yeoric turned to keep Harald before him, then darted forward to pin Harald against the perimeter. He moved with surprising grace and speed; Harald could have feasibly thrown himself into a dive to avoid being pinned, but no.

    Instead he moved forward to meet Yeoric head on, and swung his blade up from the Tail into a great gleaming arc that would have split Yeoric open from crotch to chin.

    If it had landed.

    Yeoric stepped aside, deflected the upswing neatly, then riposted with savage strength at Harald¡¯s face.

    A feint.

    But by the angels it was hard to not simply jerk aside.

    For a moment they clashed, blades dancing. Harald fought to not fall into the Dungeon Square, and strained instead to simply move with the larger man, to read his intent from the angle of his shoulders, his gaze, his wrist.

    Four, five times their blades sang out, and then Yeoric stepped in to swing a heavy fist over their bind, moving with such surety of purpose that he almost caught Harald flat-footed.

    Harald turned and raised his shoulder, disengaging and stumbling aside as the gauntlet skimmed off his shoulder.

    By the angels, he was strong.

    Harald tried to recover his balance, but Yeoric gave him no quarter. The massive man pursued him, hammering overhead blow after overhead blow down upon Harald as if he were a nail.

    Harald parried, continued to stumble, parried again, then dropped to one knee.

    Yeoric gripped his blade with both hands, his fists bunched up right under the hilt for maximum strength, and hammered down a third blow with all his strength.

    Bewildered, still off-balance, Harald threw himself aside. He rolled over one shoulder, the gravel crunching, came up on his feet and spun to meet Yeoric when the world detonated into a calamitous BOOM.

    The impact near lifted Harald off his feet. He felt the attack in the cavity of his chest, deep within his mind, as if he¡¯d run full tilt into a brick wall. The sheer violence of the explosion deafened him as he fell back and crashed onto the gravel, and there sat, momentarily stunned.

    Yeoric straightened, a look of eminent satisfaction his handsome face. He considered Harald, then shook his head with feigned pity.

    Harald¡¯s ears were ringing. People were shouting from the Circle¡¯s perimeter. The fight had only begun seconds ago; how was he already knocked on his ass?

    Yeoric approached slowly, completely at ease, the master of the Circle. He said something, but Harald couldn¡¯t make it out over his ringing ears.

    The rain was starting to come down harder. Harald pushed himself upright, blinking water out of his eyes, and backed away as Yeoric advanced. Thunderstrike was brutal¡­ but already the ringing was dying down. And though Harald felt shook-up, it wasn¡¯t from actual damage.

    One Throne.

    Yeoric was still sitting at One Throne.

    Savage satisfaction flooded Harald¡¯s mind, and he felt some of his nerves sluice away. Instead of waiting again for Yeoric¡¯s next assault, he ran at the man, a sudden rush that surprised the larger warrior, and swept his blade in again.

    This time he did use the Dungeon Square, and used it for all he was worth. Upper left, lower right, lower left, upper right.

    At first Yeoric simply parried, taken aback by Harald¡¯s ferocity, but then understanding dawned in his eyes.

    He recognized what Harald was doing.

    Confidence entered his bearing, and he parried the next strike so aggressively it was almost a strike. Harald¡¯s blade shivered, the force of the blow racing up Harald¡¯s already numbed arm. Harald stuck with the Square, and again Yeoric smashed his blow aside. A third time, and now the large warrior was grinning with sadistic delight.

    It had to feel like sparring with a child.

    Harald kept pressing the other man, but it was like attacking a column of stone. Yeoric went to smash the next blow, swinging his blade like a club, but that blow never appeared.

    Instead Harald twisted his sword around, abandoning the Square for a swirling thrust Nessa had shown him the night before, and stabbed the other man square in the armored chest.

    And just before the tip of his blade slammed home he activated Abyssal Attunement.

    Both Thrones came roaring to life.

    The Throne of Harmony sent a flood of power into Harald, fueling the awakening of the abyss, but this time the Throne of Shadow joined in, doubling the size of the stream. Harald felt the nothingness between everything blossom along the edge of his blade, that endless depth, that yawning hunger, and his sword flashed an absolute black just as it hit home.

    A pulse of energy flew from Yeoric to Harald, who felt revitalized. Yeoric staggered back before the force of the attack, face blank with shock, his chestplate dented.

    ¡°An Active?¡± He ran a hand over his chest than stared at Harald in disbelief. ¡°You? You got a Class?¡±

    ¡°You forget that I¡¯m Darius Darrowdelve¡¯s son?¡± Harald drew himself up, black sword held out to one side. ¡°You forget what my father did? Who he slew? You think all that power just disappeared?¡±

    ¡°No Artifacts allowed!¡± bellowed Yeoric, glancing back at the Adjudicator. ¡°He¡¯s cheating!¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s not using an Artifact,¡± called back the judge. ¡°Carry on.¡±

    ¡°If I had use of my Artifacts, you¡¯d be dead ten times over by now,¡± whispered Harald, knowing his voice carried through the rain. ¡°But I don¡¯t need them. You¡¯ve no idea what I¡¯ve become, Yeoric. No idea what I can do. But now you¡¯ll find out.¡±

    Yeoric went to answer, expression sour, but froze as Harald activated The Aura of the Aching Depths.

    The air around them darkened, the hiss of the rain growing quiet, the chill deepening. The power of the Abyss manifested itself, thrummed in the air, and sank into Yeoric.

    Whose Abilities were all martial in nature.

    And whose Ego was a mere 8.

    The dark power washed over him, and Harald could only imagine what he saw, what he felt as Harald began to approach him, black blade rising into the Ox Guard, hilt by his brow, tip pointed at Yeoric¡¯s face.

    ¡°You¡¯re a coward,¡± Harald said in a voice of cold iron. ¡°Who hides his fear behind his bullying. You¡¯re a coward who only picks fights on those weaker than yourself. It¡¯s why you¡¯ve never led your crew deeper than the 4 Level. It¡¯s why you¡¯re still only Level 2, why you¡¯ve never made enough scales to reach your Second Throne. You¡¯re a pathetic bully, a joke, a painful farce, but your time has come.¡±

    Yeoric¡¯s face blanched as he gave ground. The power of the Aching Depths continued to swirl around him, leeching him of strength and draining his Ego further.

    ¡°No,¡± said Yeoric, finally ceasing his retreat. ¡°You¡¯re the farce. You¡¯re the pathetic joke!¡±

    ¡°Nice,¡± whispered Harald. ¡°What a comeback.¡±

    And he attacked.

    This time he eschewed the Dungeon Square. Shoulders squared, chest puffed out, elbows tucked in, he surged forward and hewed, letting his blade dictate the battle. It was like an antennae of darkness, slicing through the Depths, its ebon length gleaming wickedly as it slashed through rain to clang across Yeoric¡¯s desperate parry.

    But the man had dug in. Set in Stone, his Active that turned him into an immovable bastion of resilience. From that place of fortitude he fought desperately, blocking and parrying each of Harald¡¯s slashes and stabs.

    Damn it.

    So much for Nessa¡¯s plan to intimidate him so badly he stumbled out of the Circle and disqualified himself.

    Harald was going to have to do this the hard way.

    So he drank deep of both Thrones, channeled as much power as he could into his blade, set about carving Yeoric down to size.

    And oh, the glory, the power. His Abyssal Attunement was unstoppable, crashing again and again against Yeoric¡¯s own, cutting nocks into his enemy¡¯s edge, and then with a cry Harald twisted a bind, thrust Yeoric¡¯s sword aside, and stabbed him in the thigh.

    The larger warrior grunted in pain, but refused to cede. A flash of darkness flew to Harald, and then a second when the cracked his sword against the man¡¯s paldron.

    Terror showed in Yeoric¡¯s face.

    Wide eyed, he fought back desperately.

    Harald sought to dominate him. Increased his tempo, gripped his sword with both hands. He slashed and hewed at the large man, and the Aching Depths did the rest.

    Panicked, weak of mind, Yeoric was unable to weather the storm. His Shrug it Off and Revitalization passives were designed for exactly this kind of scenario, and if Yeoric had been a stronger man, he might have weathered the storm.

    But pale faced, lips writhing, he stared at Harald in shock and horror as his parrying became sloppy, his mind seized by the awful, the awesome, the eternal power welling up from the depths of the abyss.

    Fury had Harald by the heart. He blasted the other man¡¯s blade aside again and again, rained blows upon his breastplate, his shoulders, his thighs and hips, and each sent a new flood of dark energy into him.

    He felt terribly alive, he felt himself a god, he felt unstoppable, invincible, immortal.

    Yeoric swayed and gasped, fought again and again to recover his balance, his center, but there was no surcease.

    And then his Throne ran out of power, and the battle was over.

    With a great cry, Harald raised his foot and stomped the other man square in the chest. He drove him back with all the strength of his hips, with all the strength he¡¯d stolen from Yeoric himself, and with Set in Stone gone, Yeoric couldn¡¯t resist.

    The large man stumbled back, his heels hit the huge open edge of the Circle, and he tripped and fell onto his ass outside the ring.

    Harald just stood there, panting, staring, blade raised, ready to pursue, but then Vic and Sam were there, grabbing him by the arms and pulling him into an embrace as they shouted their glee.

    Yeoric simply stared at him, numb incomprehension on his face, and then he looked down and away.

    It was only then that Harald realized he¡¯d won.

    He¡¯d done it.

    He¡¯d defeated Yeoric with such utter finality that there could be no doubting who was the greater warrior.

    Filled with savage satisfaction, Harald dismissed his aura and Abyssal Attunement, returned Vic and Sam¡¯s hugs, then looked over to where Nessa yet stood, arms crossed, smiling at him.

    Her wink cemented his victory, and he laughed in sheer delight.

    Chapter 47

    They gathered before the Adjudicator to hear his official verdict.

    Yeoric stood, head hanging, hands on his hips, occasionally shaking his head as if in reluctant refutation of what had just transpired. Lucine had ceased hissing at him, and Derrek looked green in the gills. Only Gazurn remained stoic, but the one time he met Harald¡¯s gaze, he frowned and looked away.

    Harald felt tremulous, relieved, thrilled, yet still seized by disbelief. It was over. The threat that had hung over his head all these past weeks was¡­ gone.

    The judge cleared his throat. "By the terms set forth and sealed by oath, and in witness of all gathered here, Harald Darrowdelve has achieved victory by the rules of this duel. His foe, Yeoric, has been cast from the ring and forced into submission. Let it be known, henceforth, that the challenge has been met, and the debt settled.¡±

    Sam cuffed Harald lightly on the shoulder, grinning ear to ear.

    ¡°Yeoric is bound by his word and honor to repay two Horizon¡¯s Whispers,¡± continued the Adjudicator, voice strong, tone official, ¡°and to relinquish all claim to that which was wrongfully taken. The victor stands uncontested. Let this serve as a testament to Harald''s strength, and may the winds of destiny favor the worthy."

    ¡°Three cheers?¡± Vic suggested to Yeoric¡¯s crew. ¡°No? Maybe next time?¡±

    ¡°By the terms of the duel, Yeoric must now bow to Harald and proclaim him the superior warrior.¡± The Adjudicator leveled a hard stare at the defeated warrior. ¡°Please hurry up about it so that we may all go home.¡±

    Yeoric grimaced as he blinked several times, expression somewhere between that of a cornered dog and stunned disbelief. Finally he turned to face Harald, though he kept his stare on the ground.

    Harald raised a brow. Almost he felt pity for the other man. Almost.

    ¡°I, Yeoric Bronzel¡­¡± The big took a deep breath. ¡°I, Yeoric, do hereby admit¡­ defeat. Harald¡­¡± And now his gaze did rise, and in the depths of his brown eyes there flickered not fury, but something more sour, more dangerous. Hatred. ¡°Harald, I don¡¯t know how you did it, but you¡¯ve bested me in¡­ in this duel.¡±

    ¡°What was that?¡± called Vic, cupping a hand to his ear. ¡°We can¡¯t hear you.¡±

    Yeoric¡¯s eyes flashed and he squared his shoulders. ¡°You¡¯re the better¡­ the better warrior, Harald. Somehow. I don¡¯t know what you did, what deals you struck to acquire this power, but mark my words -¡±

    ¡°Now, now,¡± chided the Adjudicator. ¡°You¡¯re perilously close to violating the terms.¡±

    Yeoric nodded jerkily. ¡°Enjoy your victory, Harald. You¡¯re the better warrior. There. Satisfied?¡±

    ¡°I will be when I get my scales.¡± Harald pitched his voice to carry. ¡°But if you feel sore about this, if getting kicked out of the Circle like a squalling dog doesn¡¯t sit right with you, well, come find me. I¡¯m not afraid of you, Yeoric. You know that now.¡±

    Yeoric¡¯s face flushed, but he bit back his words. Instead he glanced at the Adjudicator. ¡°We done here?¡±

    ¡°I will remit the scales to Harald,¡± agreed the older man. ¡°We are done.¡±

    ¡°Then let¡¯s go,¡± snapped Yeoric to his crew, who trailed after him as he strode away.

    ¡°Cheater,¡± hissed Lucine as she passed by.

    ¡°That wasn¡¯t right,¡± said Derrek, shaking his head as he followed after. ¡°Asshole.¡±

    Harald tongued the inside of his cheek as he watched them go. There was no point in trading insults. He¡¯d said all he had to say already, both in the Circle and out of it.

    ¡°Our thanks!¡± beamed Vic to the Adjudicator¡¯s assistant, who¡¯d handed over the scales. The pair hurried away, umbrella held high. ¡°So! How shall we celebrate? I have copious suggestions.¡±

    ¡°By getting dry first,¡± said Nessa. ¡°But Harald.¡±

    ¡°Hmm?¡±

    Nessa grinned. ¡°Well done. By all the angels, well done indeed.¡±

    ¡°You were amazing!¡± gushed Sam. ¡°I thought you were going to lose right out the gate, but then you recovered, and when you weathered his Thunderstrike -¡±

    ¡°Not bad,¡± allowed Vic. ¡°I¡¯m humbled to see how effective my sword lessons proved.¡±

    Nessa turned to eye him.

    ¡°What? Didn¡¯t I set him upon his path to glory? Didn¡¯t I bring you on board? In many respects, I feel like this is actually my victory. Why aren¡¯t I being cheered?¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± grinned Harald. ¡°Congratulations, Vic. You¡¯re the best.¡±

    ¡°There,¡± laughed Vic. ¡°Appropriate genuflection. Feel free to chime in, you two.¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s get out of the rain,¡± said Harald. ¡°How about a big dinner tonight at the Burnished Goose?¡±

    ¡°Like old times!¡± Vic clapped his hands as they all began making their way toward the main archway. ¡°I¡¯d thought you grown incapable of fun. But I¡¯m glad to see I¡¯m wrong.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll meet you all there,¡± said Sam. ¡°I¡¯m going to head back to my place. Eighth Bell?¡±

    ¡°Eighth Bell,¡± agreed Harald.

    ¡°Which means I can finally spend some scales on visiting the Luxosha Bathhouse,¡± said Nessa. ¡°It¡¯s been far too long since I treated myself to their full services. Unless you were planning to train today, Harald?¡±

    ¡°No, I think I¡¯m good. I¡¯ve a mind to go through my father¡¯s old papers and draft that charter. I want to submit our writ first thing tomorrow morning.¡±

    ¡°But of course you do,¡± smiled Nessa.

    ¡°Tomorrow¡¯s the auction,¡± chided Vic. ¡°Don¡¯t forget how delightful that¡¯s going to prove.¡±

    ¡°And when this month¡¯s Gazette comes out,¡± agreed Sam. ¡°Everybody¡¯s going to see just how high you¡¯ve jumped since the last ranking.¡±

    ¡°All the more reason to get our affairs squared away,¡± said Harald, trying to keep his dismay hidden.

    ¡°It¡¯ll be great!¡± Vic slung an arm around his shoulders. ¡°Notoriety, attention, and all the greatest Houses of Flutic throwing themselves and offers of impossible wealth at you. Gird your loins!¡±

    ¡°No thanks.¡± They passed through the archway, and exchanged nods with the dour guards. ¡°I¡¯ve a mind to keep my head down, dodge all offers, and keep on doing what we¡¯re doing.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s good to dream,¡± said Vic, ¡°but not if it leads you into delusion.¡±

    ¡°Enjoy today,¡± agreed Nessa. ¡°Tomorrow? Everything changes.¡±

    They stopped at the edge of the street, carriages rolling by and flinging continuous sprays of dirty water from the back of their wheels.

    ¡°We did it,¡± said Harald, inhaling deeply. He raised his face to the dark skies and grinned, closing his eyes. ¡°It¡¯s over.¡±

    ¡°What are you talking about?¡± laughed Vic. ¡°It¡¯s just beginning. Burnished Goose at the Eighth Bell?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll see each other then,¡± agreed Nessa.

    And with one last shared grin, they all went their separate ways.

    --------------------------------------------------------------

    From there, Harald returns to Darrowdelve Manor, and drafts the terms of the Charter. Lady Yseult Khan knocks on his door just as he''s heading out to find his friends, and asks if she can speak with him - upon which we reach THE END of Book 1.

    I hope you guys approve of these edits, which are meant to give ''Book 1'' a more classic narrative arc, tighten the pacing and tension, and resolve the whole Yeoric issue that has dogged the series to the point of feeling a little farcical.

    Cheers!

 Chapter 83

    Still feeling restless, Harald decided to eschew his customary morning run and simply head out into the city. He could lose himself in intense training, but instead he wanted to think things through. He dressed in warm woolens with a heavy all-weather cloak, and set out into the dreary morning, a thick fog lying heavy over the cobblestoned streets. Carriages would appear out of the murk to loom massive and dark and then rumble away, disappearing just as quickly. People hurried by, chins tucked into their chests, intent on their destinations.

    Flutic appeared blind, its noises muted, its activity hidden.

    It matched Harald¡¯s mood.

    Why was it worth embroiling his friends in his troubles? Because they helped balance out his own increasingly murderous instincts. Which meant that ultimately he needed to fight his own inclinations and desires. He needed to find his own balance and understanding with what the Seed was doing to him.

    And ironically, his Ego of 23 was of little help here. His instincts urged him to train harder, delve more deeply, and to push his body past its limits. Instincts that his Ego enabled.

    Even now, wandering the streets of the Angelus Quarter, he felt that tug. That desire to head toward the dungeon. Each moment spent walking along manor-lined avenues and quaint streets was a moment wasted. Each second that he wasn¡¯t swinging a sword, wasn¡¯t testing his body, wasn¡¯t slaying monsters, was a second he¡¯d never recover.

    Which was madness.

    He couldn¡¯t live this way.

    Or worse, he could. All it would take was succumbing to temptation. To give into that desire for power, new levels, new Abilities, Artifacts, Servitors, all of it.

    And Vorakhar, blast his eyes, had placed him in the perfect bind to ensure he¡¯d little choice in the matter. To hold back would ensure his death at Thracos¡¯ hand. Yeoric had already seemed a tall order, but a fellow Demon Seed with none of Harald¡¯s compunctions and hesitation?

    Death awaited him within a month or two, unless he stripped himself of his humanity and became all that Vorakhar desired: the perfect killing machine.

    But cursed stubbornness kept him walking. He wouldn¡¯t just throw himself into an endless maelstrom of murder. He had to figure himself out. He had to divine a means to ride the wave of destruction without losing all that made him Harald.

    Which is why he made his way to the Hammerfell Estate, and there stopped before the massive gates.

    If anyone could speak to him about the search for power, then it was a lady who had already scaled the highest peaks.

    Lady Hammerfell.

    He wasn¡¯t sure what he¡¯d expected of her home. Something as massive as she was, perhaps, four or five stories tall, intimidating yet graceful, with a palatial estate surrounding it.

    Instead, it was only two stories tall, made of graceful gray stone embellished with elven-styled flourishes, with great windows whose single panes of glass defied credibility. It was large, yes, but nothing exaggerated; it was only with careful scrutiny that he realized that the whole edifice was a single story, the windows and doors easily ten to twelve feet in height.

    There were no guards at the wrought iron gate, but rather a single page stationed within the perfunctory gate house who emerged when he noticed Harald lingering and approached, his manner somewhere between dismissive and exasperated.

    ¡°Hello,¡± said Harald through the bars. ¡°Lady Hammerfell invited me to tea, though she didn¡¯t specify the time. I¡¯m Harald Darrowdelve.¡±

    ¡°Oh!¡± Harald had never seen a person do an actual double-take before, and the man¡¯s entire demeanor shifted to professional inscrutability. ¡°Welcome, Sir Darrowdelve. We weren¡¯t expecting you today, though Lady Hammerfell left word that you be shown in should you stop by. You are¡­ on foot, yes, obviously. Please, do come in.¡±

    And Harald entered through a side door.

    ¡°Please excuse my truculent demeanor before,¡± continued the page, his smile apologetic. ¡°The estate tends to attract all manner of oglers who wish to catch sight of Lady Hammerfell in the flesh. It grows quite tiresome. If you¡¯ll accompany me?¡±

    Harald nodded, and followed a few steps behind the man, down the carriageway and up to the house itself.

    ¡°Beautiful design,¡± he noted as they drew close. ¡°Elven architects?¡±

    ¡°Thank you,¡± beamed the page, as if he took the compliment personally. ¡°Lady Hammerfell took over the estate only six years ago, but yes, two of those years were spent upgrading it to her requirements. Elven and dwarven laborers were employed. Lady Hammerfell¡¯s needs are singular, after all.¡±

    They stepped up to the double front doors, which were, predictably, massive. They rose to twelve feet in height, and the wood was lustrous and rich, like fired honey under iron bands.

    Flowers were everywhere, pouring forth from great stone vases on the landing, flanking the steps, and laid out in squares across the garden, so that endless paths wound their way between the blooms.

    The page opened the doors, spoke quietly with another lady in House Drakenhart gray and crimson, and then showed Harald within.

    The building was a wonder. The entrance hall ceiling was a good twenty-five feet high, coffer vaulted and pierced by skylights. The large windows allowed light to stream within, so that Harald felt himself within a solar, and everything was built to Lady Hammerfell¡¯s scale, from the chairs set against the wall to a huge suit of armor upon an armature to a full-length portrait of her on another wall.

    ¡°Please, let me show you to the parlor while we notify our lady.¡± The page lead Harald into the first room on the right. Harald followed, anticipating everything being at such a scale that he¡¯d feel child-like in comparison.

    Instead, there were obvious pieces of furniture designed for Lady Hammerfell, and then regular sized pieces for everyone else. A monstrous armchair was set before a hearth large enough to roast oxen inside, through three smaller chairs were set close by. A chaise before one of the windows looked massive enough for four people to sleep on, while a writing desk was equally huge; but the shelving on the walls, the rugs, the other sideboards and tables, all were regularly sized.

    Lady Hammerfell entered the parlor not long after, her frame filling the doorway, her smile radiant. She wore work leathers, tan leggings, and knee-high black boots, and was removing her gloves as she entered the room.

    ¡°Harald. You¡¯ve come to visit. I¡¯m glad, though you caught me working in the stables. Please, have a seat.¡±

    Harald sat back down. ¡°The stables?¡±

    ¡°I have a passion for horses.¡± She dropped her huge gloves on a table and sat in her large chair, leaning back and crossing one leg over the other. ¡°It¡¯s my greatest regret, not being able to ride any more. For a while there, before I quite reached this size, I would still try with plow horses and the like, but it was never the same. Still. I keep a small number of them as companions. It brings me joy to muck out their stalls, curry their hides, and do all the things I used to as a girl.¡±

    ¡°Well, my apologies for interrupting you. I should have sent notice.¡±

    Lady Hammerfell grinned. ¡°Were I a true lady, perhaps. But it¡¯s refreshing, your dropping by like this. Everything has grown so¡­ stilted and formal, since I rose to power. Combined with my size, I¡¯ve found that everyone¡¯s always terribly nervous around me. Sometimes they even have difficulty treating me like a person at all. So please. No apologies.¡±

    Harald smiled. ¡°Well then, apology retracted.¡±

    ¡°Good. Trobins?¡± She raised her hand. ¡°Tea, and everything that goes with it. I¡¯m famished.¡±

    ¡°Yes, my lady,¡± said a servant by the door, and disappeared.

    ¡°I am beset by a perpetual hunger.¡± Lady Hammerfell leaned back in her chair, her smile turning self-deprecating. ¡°No-one told me becoming a machine of war would turn my stomach into a furnace. Don¡¯t be alarmed at the spread I¡¯ve summoned.¡±

    Harald laughed. ¡°Not at all. I¡¯m starting to ease into that territory myself. Preparing food and then eating it is starting to seriously detract from my training time.¡±

    ¡°Is that so? What¡¯s your Strength now, if I may ask?¡±

    ¡°Without Abilities or Artifacts? 11.¡±

    ¡°And at its highest?¡±

    ¡°15.¡±

    ¡°Not bad, Master Darrowdelve, not bad. Keep this up and you¡¯ll soon be in need of a kitchen staff of your own.¡±

    ¡°May I ask yours?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s only fair. My base Strength is 21. If I really want to, however, I can raise it to about 29.¡±

    Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

    ¡°29?¡± Harald tried not to gape. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ incredible.¡±

    ¡°Quite.¡± She smiled. ¡°I can remember my own disbelief the first time I picked up a carriage. And chagrin when it broke apart. Turns out carriages weren¡¯t meant to be lifted.¡±

    ¡°I know my Strength¡¯s still quite low¡ªit¡¯s nothing compared to yours¡ªbut at what point would I start to change like you did?¡±

    ¡°Well, it¡¯s a choice. The upper natural range is around base 14. Beyond that, your body has to deal with unnatural stimulus. Though there are exercises that let you control your body¡¯s response, so that you grow stronger without getting bigger. But that slows your growth, so most can¡¯t get past a base of 16 or 17 if they wish to retain their original size.¡±

    ¡°So Lady Yseult-Khan¡­?¡±

    Lady Hammerfell laughed. ¡°Yes. She¡¯s been Gold for, what, a decade now? I¡¯d wager she¡¯s around base 17 or so. However. If you want to really embrace Strength as a primary attribute, and grow as quickly as I¡¯ve done, you won¡¯t bother with the exercises. Or use them just enough to shape your appearance as you grow so you don¡¯t become a complete ogre.¡±

    ¡°I see.¡±

    Lady Hammerfell smiled. ¡°I assume there¡¯s a reason Lady Yseult came to mind.¡±

    Harald stared down at his hands. ¡°House Celestis has been, ah, quite insistent.¡±

    ¡°Shocking,¡± said Lady Hammerfell, her tone droll. ¡°But there are benefits to joining a major House, such as being taught those Strength-shaping exercises. Do you see where I¡¯m going with this?¡±

    ¡°Subtle,¡± smiled Harald.

    Servants bustled into the room, and dozens of large platters were set before them, each covered with delicacies and richly cooked food. There was tea, yes, but also honeyed chicken, piles of vegetable rice, scrambled eggs, and thick cuts of grilled meat laid out before them.

    Lady Hammerfell accepted a laden plate from a servant, her manner remaining amused and speculative as she watched Harald, who declined an offer to be served and instead did the honors himself, choosing enough for a midday meal.

    ¡°You have no idea how many high society ladies I¡¯ve scandalized with this spread.  For a while I tried restraining myself to biscuits and small cakes, but that was agony. So I reasoned: if they¡¯re coming to visit me, then I should just host them as I see fit. And if they choose not to return? Usually that¡¯s for the best.¡±

    Harald grinned. ¡°I¡¯m already a strong admirer of your hosting style.¡±

    ¡°Good.¡± For all that her plate was piled with food, she ate slowly, delicately, with small bites and an unhurried approach.

    Harald took the opportunity to ask about her background. Her manner was unguarded, and she revealed that she had been raised in a knight¡¯s household, much like himself, but one with a long martial tradition. Her father had encouraged her interest in military training, and she¡¯d spent most of her youth at the Academy during the school year or traveling with regiments to one military engagement after another during the summers. She¡¯d been banned from actual dungeon raiding till she turned eighteen, but such was her aptitude and hunger for advancement that her rise thereafter had been meteoric, and House Drakenhart had snapped her up almost immediately.

    Somehow, she made copious amounts of food disappear without appearing ravenous, and accepted a second plate from a servant with the same gracious manner as she had the first.

    ¡°So you underwent the same recruitment drive I¡¯m experiencing right now?¡±

    ¡°Indeed. Though I was much more open to the prospect than you seem to be. I wanted the resources, the wealth, and most importantly the experienced support that I¡¯d need to drive as deeply into the dungeon as I¡¯ve done.¡± Lady Hammerfell nibbled on a piece of brocolli. ¡°But those inducements don¡¯t seem to hold much allure for you. If I may, Harald. You seem troubled. There anything you¡¯d like to share?¡±

    Harald stared down at this plate. ¡°I¡¯ll confess that I came here seeking guidance, my lady. I saw how you handled the Shuddering with the terror birds and was¡­ awed.¡± He looked up. ¡°You have the kind of power I want, you¡¯ve already achieved what I¡¯m setting out to accomplish. But I¡¯m finding the process of acquiring that power¡­ difficult to manage.¡±

    ¡°Hmm,¡± said Lady Hammerfell. ¡°In what way?¡±

    ¡°I¡­ I have within me a drive to accomplish, to¡­ conquer dungeon levels, to train, that seems¡­ frightening to my friends and companions. That frightens me, even. It¡¯s all I think about. I¡¯ve even taken to raiding the dungeon by myself at night.¡±

    He¡¯d expected her censure, but she simply nodded, as if this revelation wasn¡¯t shocking in the slightest.

    House Drakenhart was no doubt keeping an eye on his activities as well.

    ¡°And I¡¯ve found myself¡­ I don¡¯t know, glorying in my Abilities. Enjoying killing monsters with my Artifacts and hunting with my Servitor¡ª¡±

    ¡°That black hound that fought beside you during the Shuddering?¡± Her interjection was smooth. ¡°I meant to ask. An inheritance from your father?¡±

    ¡°No.¡± He hesitated again. How much was safe to share with her? Her warmth was so disarming. But best he keep some cards close to his chest. ¡°But using them, I sometimes find myself growing strange even to myself. Did you experience something similar? That¡­ blood lust? That eagerness for violence, to conquer?¡±

    Lady Hammerfell laughed. ¡°But of course, Harald! You can¡¯t achieve greatness without it.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡± Again she surprised him. ¡°And¡­ how did you not lose yourself to that drive?¡±

    ¡°Now that¡¯s the real question.¡± She handed her empty plate to a servant and gestured for the table to be cleared. ¡°In order to achieve the highest levels, to unlock the greatest Abilities, and to Ascend to your fourth of fifth Throne, you need to be obsessed. You simply can¡¯t accomplish these things without sacrificing just about everything else. Hobbies, friendships, romances, scholarly pursuits, riding horses¡­ they all detract from your success. Every legendary raider was a monomaniac. They put advancement above all else and made terrible sacrifices to achieve their greatness.¡±

    ¡°I see.¡±

    ¡°But that doesn¡¯t mean we need to turn into monsters,¡± continued Lady Hammerfell gently. ¡°I don¡¯t fancy myself a murderous beast, despite my appetites. Though of course, there are those who become murderous monsters little better than the foes we battle in the dungeon. Don¡¯t groan, but joining a House is one of the easiest and best ways to avoid that fate. Surrounding yourself with elite peers who have walked the exact same path, who can share their experiences, call you out when you¡¯re going too far, and teach you how to keep yourself in check is critical to the long-term success of obsessive raiders like you and me.¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± said Harald, bobbing his head. ¡°Of course.¡±

    Lady Hammerfell considered. ¡°That being said, there are a few things I can share that might help. For one, don¡¯t expect to be understood. The truly driven frighten the casuals. They just can¡¯t understand what it¡¯s like to be driven by such a primal need to succeed. How it can eclipse everything else and consume our thoughts minds. They¡¯re¡­ normal. They think life should include social outings, that friendships and romantic relationships are worth the time they require to blossom. They enjoy, I don¡¯t know, walking through the pretty parts of the city for its own sake. Sleeping in, spending their nights drinking with boon companions who enrich their lives.¡± Lady Hammerfell¡¯s smile was pitying, poignant. ¡°They cannot, and will not understand why you don¡¯t wish to participate in those activities. Why instead you dedicate yourself whole heartedly to the pursuit of excellence.¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± said Harald again, and inhaled deeply.

    ¡°I¡¯ve found that those of us who have this drive, this¡­ unreasonable need to succeed, we must accept this hunger as a fact. It¡¯s always there. So where does that leave us?¡±

    Harald raised both brows. He¡¯d moved to the edge of his seat, he realized. Nothing had ever seemed so important as whatever she was going to say next.

    ¡°All that remains to us mad fools is how we choose to harness that drive. Think of it as a fire. Without control, it¡¯ll consumes us. But tempered, managed, and disciplined, it can be put to all manner of excellent uses.¡±

    Harald leaned forward. ¡°But how do you temper something that feels all-consuming?¡±

    Lady Hammerfell accepted a massive cup of tea and raised it to her lips. ¡°That process is unique to each of us. Some cling to spirituality and their Seraphic faith. Others to iron discipline and inflexible rigidity with controlled bouts of emotional release and physical excess. I¡¯ve heard of some who divide themselves into two beings, becoming one in the dungeon, and another in Flutic, and feeling no responsibility or guilt for what their other self does while raiding.¡±

    Harald nodded slowly.

    ¡°I can see your disappointment, Harald.¡± Her smile was kind. ¡°You were hoping for a simple solution. But for people like us, for whom the dungeon is a perpetual altar on which we must sacrifice ourselves, there¡¯s no short cut, no neat answer. You¡¯ve just got to wrestle with that engine of destruction, to harness its power while keeping it under control. Because if you fail, you¡¯ll become a beast, and those are always short-lived.¡±

    Harald nodded soberly.

    ¡°There is in each of us an unreasoning appetite for destruction,¡± said Lady Hammerfell gently. ¡°We can¡¯t become what we desire without it. You¡¯ve got to become friends with that monstrous side of yourself. You must tame it. Bring it to heel, and teach it that you are the master. Only you can discover what that takes, what will work for yourself.¡±

    ¡°How did you do it?¡±

    ¡°Humility, strangely enough.¡± Lady Hammerfell¡¯s smile was complex, part sympathetic, part wry. ¡°I reached a point in my advancement where I had become a stranger to myself. My passions had overtaken me. If I wasn¡¯t killing or fornicating or engaging in some kind of excess, I felt¡­ dead.¡± Her smile became sad. ¡°So, with the assistance of House Drakenhart, I admitted that I was powerless over my craving for power. Once I ceased to pretend I was in control, I was able to entrust myself to the Fallen Angel. That only she could restore me to sanity.¡±

    ¡°To the Fallen Angel?¡± Harald shifted to the edge of his seat. ¡°But she¡¯s¡­ dead?¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s so much more than we can hope to understand, Harald. I¡¯ve spoken with her. Entrusted myself to her care, and know in the depths of my soul that she watches over me when I¡¯m in the dungeon. I¡¯ve seen¡­ things¡­ in the dungeon that I can¡¯t explain but for her intervention, her guidance, her love. She¡¯s aware of me when I descend into her depths, and I slay only by means of her grace.¡±

    Harald tried to parse this. From anyone else this would have sounded trite, but from Lady Hammerfell¡­

    ¡°My problem, you see, was that I was trying to control the uncontrollable. I couldn¡¯t control my lust for power. It was only by relinquishing that control to the Fallen Angel that I found peace.¡± Lady Hammerfell set her empty cup down on the table. ¡°I know this must all sound very vague, but in time you¡¯ll witness things in the dungeon that you just can¡¯t explain. Living mysteries, miracles, celestial portents and signs. The open mind will understand these omens for what they are, the Fallen Angel communicating with us. You¡¯ll know of what I speak when it happens to you.¡±

    Harald thought of that angelic woman he¡¯d seen on the 4th Level. Her stern, fierce stare, her beauty and twin swords. Almost he mentioned her, but again his instinct toward privacy bid him hold his tongue.

    Lady Hammerfell rested her chin on the base of her palm, canting her head to one side as she studied him. ¡°There¡¯s more wonder and horror in the dungeon than you can possibly imagine. That¡¯s its true blessing, and ultimately, the real reason to continue delving. You know that you have an open invitation to meet with Sir Gavriel Draken, don¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°I do?¡± Harald sat up. ¡°I didn¡¯t assume as much.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re obviously interested in recruiting you. But I won¡¯t press it. Unlike other Houses, that¡¯s not our style. Know that if you join House Drakenhart, however, I¡¯ll be glad to speak at length about this with you. To mentor you as I was mentored.¡±

    ¡°Thank you.¡± Harald stood and bowed. ¡°That would be an immense honor.¡±

    ¡°Not as much as you think. But I can tell you¡¯re not ready to commit. That¡¯s fine, I understand. But a word of warning?¡±

    Harald nodded, stomach growing tight.

    ¡°Be wary. There are indeed others in this city who aren¡¯t nearly as patient or understanding as Sir Draken.¡± Hammerfell¡¯s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. ¡°I¡¯ve heard¡­ rumors, shall we say, that dangerous factions are growing decidedly impatient. Whether you like it or not, you¡¯ll soon have to make a decision, lest it be made for you.¡±

    Harald stared at her. ¡®Factions¡¯? He curbed the instinct to ask for details. This was as bald a warning as she could give. Did she mean Thornvale? Silvershield? Celestara?

    His heart was pounding. Hearing that warning daily from Vic and Nessa had come to feel almost commonplace. From Lady Hammerfell? His situation suddenly felt dire.

    Lady Hammerfell rose to tower over him. ¡°Thank you for coming to visit, Harald. I hope our conversation has been of some use to you.¡±

    ¡°More than I think you know.¡± Harald felt a pang of remorse that the audience was so clearly over. ¡°My thanks, my lady.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re most welcome. Come. I¡¯ll walk you out.¡±

    And together they left the parlor.

 Chapter 84

    Harald frowned the whole way home. People seemed to sense him coming and some instinct warned them to step aside. So that without realizing it, Harald carved a path through the crowds, ignoring the stares and hushed voices that trailed after him.

    Lady Hammerfell¡¯s words echoed in his mind. He felt at once reassured and more lost. She¡¯d affirmed that what he felt was natural, part and parcel of needing to be the best. But beyond that, what had she offered him?

    Nuanced, honest feedback that had failed to do the work for him.

    Her mysticism, her willing subjugation to the Fallen Angel felt too esoteric and weird for him. Perhaps one day he¡¯d witness enough in the dungeon to feel the same, but for now, her path was closed to him.

    No. He couldn¡¯t simply relinquish all control over his life to the Fallen Angel. He felt too aggressive, too active an urge to harness his own drive and wrestle it under control.

    Then?

    She¡¯d rattled off what others did, but none of them had appealed. That was the problem with looking for shortcuts. They didn¡¯t exist. You ended up wasting your time as you ignored the right path: the one directly before you.

    His own path seemed clear.

    To surround himself with strong and good-hearted friends. To delve deep and often in the dungeon. To grow in power, and to survive the challenges and obstacles that were being thrown in his way.

    To keep himself under control, and to watch the bloodlust, the demonic urges, the desire to slaughter indiscriminately.

    It was late afternoon when he arrived at the manor. Sam was home, satchel set in a chair just inside the front door, and was conversing with Nessa in the first parlor.

    ¡°Harald!¡± She seemed at once glad to see him and nervous both. ¡°I¡¯m so glad you¡¯re home.¡±

    He made his way to the closest chair. Both women were alert, but not necessarily upset. ¡°What¡¯s happened?¡±

    ¡°When did you last see K¨¢rsek?¡± asked Sam.

    ¡°Last night? Oh. You just saw him?¡±

    Nessa raised a dark brow. ¡°You sound so casual about it. He arrived a few hours ago dressed in dwarven armor and¡­¡±

    Sam picked up the thread. ¡°He explained what happened to him, but I can¡¯t say I understood. He has an entirely new Class now?¡±

    ¡°DreadRune,¡± agreed Harald. ¡°He tried to explain it to me, too, but¡­ yeah. It was really strange. Apparently, dwarves can change their Class if under duress. Or maybe it¡¯s an honor thing. But not willingly, otherwise?¡± Harald rubbed at his jaw. ¡°He was definitely intimidating, so I didn¡¯t feel like pressing him.¡±

    ¡°Agreed,¡± said Sam. ¡°He went back to the garden shed, though it seems even weirder for him to spend time there. He said he was going to close it down.¡±

    ¡°Close down the garden shed?¡± Harald shook his head, his confusion only growing. ¡°I mean, that¡¯s fine, I guess. Gardening isn¡¯t really a priority right now.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re going to have to have a frank conversation with him,¡± said Nessa. ¡°Learn what he can do, how his role in the party has changed. I was thinking we could raid tomorrow morning, all of us try for a deeper level. Perhaps the 16th, given the direct access via the Dungeon Portal.¡±

    ¡°16th?¡± Harald restrained the urge to grin. ¡°That¡¯s great. I¡¯m ready. That one features, what, hobgoblins and orcs?¡±

    ¡°Correct,¡± said Nessa. ¡°It¡¯s a sharp escalation over the 15th and lower levels. I¡¯ll debrief the whole team after dinner with Countess Sonora so I don¡¯t repeat myself, but that should satisfy your craving for a challenge.¡±

    ¡°Excellent,¡± said Harald.

    ¡°And with a DreadRune onboard¡­¡± Sam again shook her head, mystified. ¡°He¡¯s got armor, a new hammer which I¡¯m sure is an Artifact, and his, I don¡¯t know, his very personality has changed. It¡¯s like he¡¯s a whole new dwarf. Made me feel like a child next to a stern adult.¡±

    ¡°Because you are a child, darling,¡± smiled Nessa.

    Sam stuck her tongue out in response, and Harald couldn¡¯t help but smile. When had these two broken through the ice between them?

    ¡°How did it go with Lady Hammerfell?¡± asked Nessa. ¡°Did she provide you with answers?¡±

    ¡°Sympathy, yes. Answers? If I joined House Drakenhart. Including the offer to mentor me.¡±

    ¡°No small offer,¡± said Nessa, raising a brow. ¡°Tempted?¡±

    ¡°Yes, actually. But no. I¡¯m still not interested in joining a major house. And she also revealed that her approach to self-mastery is this mystical surrender to the Fallen Angel herself, which I don¡¯t think would work for me, regardless. But it was a good visit. She can reach Strength 29 when she really wants to.¡±

    Both women looked impressed.

    ¡°Strength 29?¡± Sam glanced at Nessa. ¡°That means she can¡­ throw a tree?¡±

    ¡°Probably,¡± laughed Nessa. ¡°And swing that huge sword around like we saw. Thracos is a more pressing concern, though. If all goes well tonight with the countess, you should find him and negotiate a date for your duel.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t remind me.¡± Harald pinched the bridge of his nose. ¡°Defeating Yeoric was task enough, though now it doesn¡¯t feel nearly as impressive an accomplishment as it once did. Defeating a Silver-ranked Demon Seed in the dungeon? How am I supposed to catch up with him if he¡¯s got the same advantage I do?¡±

    Neither Nessa nor Sam had an answer.

    ¡°But House Thornvale is no longer actively recruiting me. Which means there¡¯s nothing to stop me from approaching Countess Sonora tonight. Which, according to Lady Hammerfell, can¡¯t come soon enough. You should have heard her trying to be subtle about warning me. I¡¯m clearly going to need protection as soon as possible.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve worked for her,¡± said Sam. ¡°What¡¯s she like? All Vic can seem to do is swoon over her beauty.¡±

    Nessa tapped her lips, pensive. ¡°Countess Sonora is¡­ formidable, I suppose. She¡¯s been under attack ever since she came to power, but she¡¯s not lost heart.¡±

    ¡°How strong is her opposition?¡± asked Harald.

    ¡°Strong enough to have crippled her business interests both abroad and in the city. She¡¯s a nude countess. Her wealth has run dry, her barracks are empty, and her manor nearly as destitute and abandoned as this one.¡± Nessa smiled. ¡°Nearly. Vic and my little crew keep her in scales, but barely.¡±This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    Harald considered. ¡°Do you know what it would take to turn her fortunes around?¡±

    Nessa shook her head. ¡°I made a point of not inquiring. To be honest, her need has been to my and Vic¡¯s advantage, and I¡¯m amazed that she¡¯s lasted as long as she has. I¡¯d have wagered she¡¯d give up last year, but she¡¯s hung on.¡±

    ¡°I can respect that,¡± said Harald. ¡°And I¡¯m glad we¡¯re meeting with her tonight. There¡¯s no point in training to fight Thracos if Lady Yseult catches me in a side street or follows me into the dungeon. Perhaps my working for the countess will disarm some of House Celestara¡¯s animosity.¡±

    ¡°Anything is possible,¡± said Nessa dubiously.

    ¡°What of me?¡± asked Sam. ¡°I¡¯m not eager to sign up with anyone just yet.¡±

    ¡°Then don¡¯t,¡± said Harald. ¡°I mean it. You can still come raiding with us. But I agree, it doesn¡¯t make any sense for you to swear an oath to House Sonora.¡±

    ¡°Good,¡± said Sam, and gave a firm nod.

    There was a distinct rap on the front door, and they all twisted as one to stare.

    ¡°Flutic Treasury, perhaps?¡± guessed Sam. ¡°Come to evict us?¡±

    ¡°No, we¡¯ve a day or two left.¡± Harald rose to his feet. ¡°Unless they moved the date up again.¡± He led his friends into the entrance hall and opened the door.

    Lady Yseult Khan stood outside, clad in her wondrous golden half-plate worn over her bodysuit of midnight blue. Her cape of cerulean flowed from her shoulders, thick and voluminous, and she held her intimidating helm under one arm, so that her silver-white mane of hair cascaded down past her shoulders.

    Damn it, thought Harald. Had she somehow been alerted to their dinner plans? ¡°Lady Yseult. What a lovely surprise.¡±

    ¡°Harald,¡± said Lady Yseult, her tone as sober as her gaze. ¡°Lady Ermarine.¡±

    ¡°This is my good friend, Samantha Tuppins,¡± said Harald. ¡°Will you come in?¡±

    Lady Yseult nodded and stepped over the threshold. Her presence filled the entrance hall, stealing the air in a way that her previous visit hadn¡¯t. Harald led the way into the parlor, and found himself wishing that Vic were here to help with the intensity.

    They sat.

    Lady Yseult¡¯s poise was perfect; her back stiff, her shoulders squared, her cloak gathered to one side. For a moment, she simply subjected Harald to her probing stare, and he was glad once more for his Ego 23, for he was able to meet its full weight without flinching.

    ¡°We received your elegantly penned response,¡± began the Gold-ranked raider. ¡°My sister was touched at the sentiments, but ultimately frustrated at the lack of an answer. She bid me visit you to see if we can reach a clearer understanding of your position.¡±

    Oh, shit.

    ¡°I see,¡± said Harald. ¡°And I appreciate your, ah, interest in nailing down my position.¡± He resisted the urge to glance at his friends. ¡°Unfortunately, I¡¯m not yet ready to declare my loyalty for any house. I do hope you understand.¡±

    K¨¢rsek appeared in the parlor entrance, dressed in a sober uniform of dove grays and earthen browns. He stopped at the sight of their guest, one of his blond brows rising in surprise.

    Lady Yseult nodded slowly, taking in the dwarf and promptly dismissing him, her gray eyes glittering. ¡°As I imagined. I appreciate your candor, Harald, but Melisende entrusted me with making the urgency of the matter clear. Her patience runs thin. We¡¯re aware that other houses have expressed their interest in recruiting you, as is right and proper, but she asked that I impress upon you the wisdom of joining House Celestara.¡±

    ¡°She made a compelling case after dinner,¡± said Harald.

    K¨¢rsek entered the parlor, following the wall to stand beside the fireplace. His gravitas was such that Lady Yseult¡¯s gaze was pulled to the dwarf almost against her will.

    ¡°Not compelling enough, it seems. I¡¯m sorry, but who is this?¡±

    ¡°My apologies, let me introduce the latest member of the Throne Hunters, K¨¢rsek.¡±

    ¡°Ah,¡± said Lady Yseult, her manner relaxing but a fraction as K¨¢rsek bowed. ¡°Your gardener, yes. As I was saying. You stand to gain many advantages if you accept her offer. I won¡¯t repeat them, but I trust you¡¯re aware that her offer is exceedingly generous. But clearly that¡¯s not the correct form of inducement.¡±

    Nessa¡¯s tone was sharp. ¡°And what is, Lady Yseult?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re all adults here.¡± The Gold-ranked raider kept her gaze locked on Harald. ¡°We all understand the stakes. There is a clear and correct choice for Harald to make, one which would benefit him greatly and then there is an incorrect choice.¡±

    ¡°Lady Yseult,¡± said Harald softly. ¡°That sounds passingly close to a threat.¡±

    ¡°Only if you take it as such,¡± said Lady Yseult. ¡°House Celestara has risen to the heights of power, commands the authority it wields and boasts such a deep stable of raiders and incredible wealth because my sister does not hesitate to act in whatever manner furthers our house¡¯s needs. On one hand, that can mean sparing no expense in outfitting and supporting the careers of House Celestara raiders. On the other hand, it can mean zero tolerance for anything that endangers or puts our house at a disadvantage.¡±

    Harald felt his pulse pick up, felt his guts clench. It was no small thing to sit across from such a powerful being and hear such words.

    Nessa, however, sounded exasperated. ¡°Oh, come, Lady Yseult. If this is meant to impress us, it¡¯s not doing the job. If anything, the danger was more persuasive when it remained the subtext. Such crude extortion demeans House Celestara and yourself both.¡±

    Lady Yseult raised one perfectly arched brow. ¡°Quite the opposite, Lady Ermarine. I possess a singular appreciation for directness and have done Harald the same courtesy.¡± She looked at Harald. ¡°So please, in light of everything that is at stake, respond to my sister¡¯s offer.¡±

    ¡°Now?¡± Harald just barely kept his tone level. ¡°I already -¡±

    ¡°Now,¡± cut in Lady Yseult.

    ¡°I see.¡± Harald sat up slightly straighter. ¡°You force the issue.¡±

    ¡°I do, indeed. Master Darrowdelve, will you or will you not accept our invitation to join House Celestara?¡±

    Harald held the woman¡¯s glittering gaze. It was mesmerizing. He recalled Lady Hammerfell¡¯s ability to level entire segments of the Dungeon Plaza with one swing of her blade, and thought on how Lady Yseult was ranked higher than she. If she wanted to, Lady Yseult could kill the three of them right here and now without any effort whatsoever.

    Was that what she was threatening? To slaughter them if he refused?

    Harald stood.

    Nessa and Sam did the same.

    Lady Yseult remained seated, one brow still arched, waiting.

    ¡°Then it is with great regret that I must decline,¡± said Harald, voice unnaturally calm to his own ears. ¡°Please tender my sincere regrets to Lady Melisende.¡±

    Lady Yseult pursed her lips, nodded as if his words had confirmed some privately held suspicion, and rose to her feet. ¡°A pity, Harald. But I¡¯m afraid I can¡¯t allow you to make this mistake. Please accept my invitation to return with me to House Celestara, where we can continue this conversation.¡±

    ¡°The matter is closed, Lady Yseult. There is nothing left to discuss.¡±

    Nessa was gliding out wide, but she was without her blade. Sam¡¯s eyes were wide, her chest rising and falling. Even K¨¢rsek seemed affected, for the dwarf was trembling, his brow creased into a deep frown, his green eyes glittering as he focused on Lady Yseult.

    Who smiled, completely at ease, and rose to her feet. ¡°You are in no position to refuse my invitation. If I wish you to accompany me home, then accompany me you shall.¡±

    Harald¡¯s pulse was pounding in his ears. There was nothing in the depths of Yseult¡¯s gray eyes but calm confidence. To resist was futile. Even if they were fully geared up and deployed their Artifacts and Servitors, they stood not a chance in hell of resisting.

    ¡°Hello!¡± Vic¡¯s voice rang out as he entered the hallway, shopping bags hanging from the crook of his elbow. ¡°Who summoned the Celestara carriage¡­ outside?¡±

    Lady Yseult finally rose to her feet. Her eyes had narrowed, her gaze turned flat. ¡°If I have to carry you out over my shoulder like a squalling babe, I shall do so. If I must step over the corpses of your companions in the process, then so be it. Accept inevitability, Harald Darrowdelve. Summon what dignity remains to you, bow your head to my sister¡¯s will, and follow me outside.¡± The air crackled with tension, with power. ¡°I shall not ask again.¡±

    ¡°Nobody threatens my thark?n,¡± whispered K¨¢rsek from beside the fireplace. ¡°Khazadrok.¡±

    Harald saw the rune. Massive as a barn door, ghostly and geometric in the style of dwarven writing, it appeared before K¨¢rsek and flashed toward Lady Yseult, who let out a cry of rage and shock. She managed to cross her arms before her, summoning a curvature of pale gold in the air just before the rune impacted.

    The result was explosive, thunderous, overwhelming.

    Lady Yseult was blasted off her feet with such violence that she flew across the room as if launched by a trebuchet. Her shoulders and head impacted a distant bookcase mere seconds before the rune itself hit the wall.

    Everything shattered outwards with a concussive roar. The shelving, books, stonework, all of it fragmented as Lady Yseult flew outside to hurtle into the overgrown shrubberies that lined the manor¡¯s flank.

    Chunks of masonry pulled free from the top of the massive square hole that now opened the side of the parlor to the garden and sky, and crashed down onto the debris.

    Harald gaped. The very air tasted of heated metal. Only K¨¢rsek¡¯s panting breaths filled the silence, the young dwarf suddenly so weak that he sank to one knee, his ruddy complexion reduced to a waxen pallor.

    ¡°What¡­?¡± whispered Nessa, awestruck. ¡°But¡­¡±

    Harald wanted to laugh, to rake at his face with his fingers, to gape. But Sam¡¯s Beacon of Hope washed over him, and his faculties snapped back into acuity.

    ¡°She can¡¯t be hurt,¡± he whispered. ¡°She¡¯s definitely not dead. Run.¡±

 Chapter 85

    Vic yanked open the front door even as he hurled the shopping bags aside. ¡°The carriage!¡±

    ¡°The House Celestara carriage?¡± cried out Sam in disbelief.

    ¡°It¡¯s got four wheels,¡± said Harald, rushing to K¨¢rsek¡¯s side. ¡°That¡¯s all we need!¡±

    The dwarf was grimacing as if experiencing deep intestinal pain. ¡°Go without me. I¡¯ll try to hold her back.

    ¡°That¡¯s not how we operate,¡± said Harald, clamping down on all his questions and incredulity. ¡°Hurry!¡±

    Nessa took K¨¢rsek¡¯s other arm, and together they rushed out the parlor just as a spear of golden light flashed into the room from outside, so bright that it seared Harald¡¯s vision and reduced everything to a muted roar. A barrel-sized portion of the wall disappeared, perfectly disintegrated, and Harald realized the attack had missed K¨¢rsek¡¯s head by inches.

    Everybody rushed out the front door and pounded down the driveway. Harald wanted to cast terrified glances behind him, but what was the point? He retained an iron control of his fear. He and Nessa all but carried K¨¢rsek out of the iron gate that Vic had flung open, and right up to the pearlescent carriage that awaited outside.

    It was a gorgeous affair. Four matched white mares stood in the harnesses, while two House Celestara guards stared at them with the same shock Harald was feeling himself.

    Vic glared up at the men. ¡°Harry, your aura!¡±

    Both Aching Depths and Vic¡¯s Aura of Cruelty washed over both men as Vic leaped up alongside them on the carriage seat.

    ¡°Gentlemen, jump or die.¡±

    A cry of pure fury came from inside the manor.

    The men exchanged a glance and jumped down to the street.

    Sam yanked open the carriage door. Nessa helped Harald lever the dwarf inside, even as Vic cracked the whips and cried out, ¡°Hyah! Hyah!¡±

    The carriage lurched forward, almost leaving Harald behind, who flung himself after it and caught Sam¡¯s outstretched hand.

    She pulled him into the carriage, the door swinging back and forth. Vic steered them into the street, eliciting a string of curses from a hansom cab as it was forced to veer aside.

    Harald, gasping, clutched at the carriage¡¯s doorframe and leaned out to peer behind him, not daring to think them yet safe.

    They weren¡¯t.

    Yseult came racing into view, arms pumping, her helm hiding her features, hair streaming behind her. She leaned into the turn, moving out into the street, intent on giving pursuit.

    ¡°Faster, Vic!¡± cried Harald, pitching his voice to carry over the roar of the wheels. ¡°Faster!¡±

    The four horses were magnificent, chosen to represent House Celestara¡¯s glory and wealth, and now they proved their mettle. The carriage continued to accelerate as the horses broke into a gallop, a speed never used on the common thoroughfares. The carriage jounced and lurched as it hurtled over the cobblestones, faster and faster, swaying violently as Vic screamed out warnings and guided the four horses as best he could around the more placid traffic.

    It was madness. People screamed their curses and outrage, and twice the carriage tilted right over onto two wheels, the whole of it teetering on complete collapse.

    But always, Harald kept his gaze behind them.

    On the figure of Yseult Khan, the third-ranked raider in all of Flutic, who refused to give up the chase.

    And who was gaining on them.

    She sprinted tirelessly, arms pumping mechanically like a scale-golem, so nimble that no obstacle slowed her down. Once she leaped clear over a carriage, soaring up into the air, and at the apex of her jump she swept her hand, a sword appearing momentarily in her hand so that she unleashed a flash of golden light.

    ¡°Down!¡± screamed Harald, diving for the floor.

    Sam and Nessa pulled the woozy K¨¢rsek atop him, and then the upper corner of the carriage exploded into splinters and light.

    Sam screamed, but all Harald could think was to twist around and gaze up through the wooden rent at the carriage seat where Vic should have been.

    It was bare.

    Harald¡¯s heart shuddered in horror. Had that strike cut his friend in half, incinerated him instantaneously?

    ¡°Appreciate the warning, Harry!¡± screamed Vic, swinging back up into view, his expression wild, his grin stretching nearly ear to ear. ¡°Whoo!¡±

    The horses were straining in the harnesses, fighting for every ounce of speed as they tore along Baldric Avenue. Faster and faster, Vic laughing and shouting commands for people to clear the way.

    Were this any earlier or later, there would have been too much traffic, and they¡¯d have been doomed.

    As it was, they swayed from side to side, everyone jostling within the carriage, K¨¢rsek lying on his back, eyes closed, skin ashen. Sam had a hand on his brow, and her Beacon of Hope aura was comforting them all, along with something more: Guardian¡¯s Mantle.

    It overlay the first aura like a cooling damp cloth, deepening the first while bolstering not only Harald¡¯s mind and confidence, but his very body. He felt his reserves replenishing, his physical resilience deepening.

    Hopefully it would help counter whatever damage K¨¢rsek had done to himself.

    Harald peered outside once more, searching for that deadly figure.

    There.

    Yseult had fallen back. Even she, it seemed, couldn¡¯t sprint as fast as a galloping horse forever.

    But she wasn¡¯t giving up. She navigated the snarled traffic that Vic left in his wake with effortless skill, vaulting and veering around stalled and crashed carts, carriages, and cabs, her hair and ruined cloak flying behind her.

    They were tearing through the Angelic Quarter at terrific speed. Harald¡¯s heart still raced, and he wanted to laugh, exhilarated at having escaped such certain death.

    ¡°Almost there!¡± cried Vic. ¡°Big turn. Hold on!¡±

    The carriage slowed, rocked, and then they rose up on both left wheels as they veered hard to the right. Sam screamed again even as Nessa grabbed Harald and yanked him over to the rising side of the carriage, providing counterweight.

    For an endless, gut-churning second, Harald swore they¡¯d flip over and crash onto their side, but then the carriage straightened out and the wheels hit the cobblestones once more, and they were off.

    ¡°Where¡¯d he learn to drive like that?¡± cried out Sam, clutching a headrest.

    Nessa laughed. ¡°Vic excels at evading furious pursuit!¡±

    ¡°Look sharp!¡± cried Vic. ¡°Sonora up ahead!¡±

    Harald peered out and behind them once more, and gave an involuntary shout of alarm. Yseult was only a dozen yards behind them, leaning into her sprint, coming right after them.

    Harald didn¡¯t think.

    He summoned the Goldchops.

    Both hatchets appeared beside him, then flew without fear or hesitation right at the Gold-ranked raider.

    The collided almost instantaneously. Heart in his throat, Harald watched, hoping against hope that the Masterwork Artifact might stop Yseult, but she simply ducked under them both so that they flew past her, and kept coming.

    ¡°Fuck,¡± hissed Harald, but then he sensed the hatchets reverse their direction and come right back.

    Yseult wasn¡¯t surprised, necessarily, but this time one hatchet came in low, the other high.

    Her golden shield flared, encircling her completely, and both hatchets detonated. Harald felt the shock of their returning to his Cosmos, and out of sheer desperation summoned Shadowpaw so that he fell upon her even as he materialized.

    The Shadow Mastiff¡¯s fury and surprise came powerfully through their bond. The hound bayed as he fell upon the Gold-ranked raider, claws slashing, and Harald swung the Dawnblade and unleashed a Demonic Edge.

    Had Shadowpaw not been a Level 27 Servitor, had Harald¡¯s own Soul Rank not been Divine, surely neither would have had any effect on Yseult.

    And to all intents and purposes, they practically didn¡¯t. A ghostly figure of a winged woman appeared in the Demonic Edge¡¯s path, absorbing the crackling black energy, even as the golden sphere appeared once more around Yseult, incinerating Shadowpaw.

    But perhaps it was his doom-laden howl, or some combination of factors, because Yseult¡¯s next step twisted on the cobblestones and she tripped, twisting as she fell to roll rapidly along the ground, round and round, then slide out.

    ¡°Yes!¡± screamed Harald, punching the ceiling of the carriage with such savage joy that he smashed his fist through the wood.

    But Yseult, even falling behind as she was, leaped to her feet, unhurt, and came after.

    ¡°Here we go!¡± cried Vic. ¡°No time to talk, just get through the gate!¡±

    And then he was hauling back on the reins as Sonora Manor slid into view, its high stone walls marred by ivy and moss.The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

    The carriage slowed before the wrought iron gate that was set into an elaborately carved archway, but clearly wasn¡¯t going to stop. Trusting in his companions, Harald leaped down to the moving sidewalk, landing roughly and staggering even as his friends jumped down after, Vic abandoning the carriage altogether.

    The Sonora coat of arms was emblazoned overhead. Twin modest gatehouses flanked the entrance, though only one boasted a sentry. The gate itself was in the process of being restored; one half gleamed as if freshly scrubbed and painted, while the second yet bore the signs of rust and wear.

    The sentry stepped neatly out of his guardhouse then cried out in anger as Vic hauled open the gate and dove inside. Harald and the others piled after, only to turn and gaze out into the street as Nessa slammed the gate shut once more.

    Yseult came into view so quickly that she actually slid along the sidewalk as she turned to stop; her hair wild, her uniform and cloak shredded, her armor gleaming and undamaged.

    ¡°What is the meaning of this?¡± roared the sentry, an elderly man, rail thin and boasting an incredible mustache that completely hid the lower half of his face. ¡°This is private property!¡±

    ¡°Bosworth! Darling, it¡¯s me, Vic.¡± The sentry oriented on the Rapier Regent. ¡°We were expected for dinner, remember?¡±

    Yseult stepped up to the barred gate. ¡°You. Sentry. These people are wanted by House Celestara, whose full authority I represent. Grant me access to step on your property and retrieve them.¡±

    Bosworth was puffing out through his mustache, glancing back and forth between Vic and the deeply menacing woman outside his gate. ¡°It is with sincere regret that I must deny you this request!¡± His shout was shaky, but his whole body seemed to vibrate with purpose. ¡°The sanctity of House Sonora is mine to protect, and I shall not allow violence to occur to Lady Sonora¡¯s guests while I yet draw breath!¡±

    Yseult inclined her head. ¡°But of course. House Celestara would never dream of violating House Sonora¡¯s demesne. Please convey my good wishes to your lady, and inform her that I wish to speak with Harald Darrowdelve as soon as she is done with him.¡±

    Harald remained perfectly poised despite wishing to sag with relief. That iron gate was purely symbolic. Yseult could have torn it aside with her bare hands. But to transgress on Sonora¡¯s property would involve Lord Draken, and she would then be forced to account for that transgression before the Assembly.

    Not, it seemed, something she was willing to do for Harald¡¯s sake.

    ¡°Cheers, Bozzy,¡± said Vic, raking his golden hair back. ¡°Any idea what the countess is serving for dinner? I forgot to bring the wine.¡±

    The old sentry glared at Vic, then bowed stiffly to Yseult. ¡°I shall take your message to my lady. Mr. Carmine, Ms. Ermarine, and your¡­ friends¡­ please accompany me.¡±

    And with a stiff gait, the old man led them up the driveway, leaving Yseult to watch them through the bars.

    The driveway was brief, and they turned sidelong in a courtyard before the entrance to the manor house. The garden was small but elegant, with gravel pathways winding through neatly trimmed hedges. The central feature was a fountain, the stonework darkened by time, but a plume of water still rose high into the air.

    Everything had the air of just barely being kept together. The flowerbeds were vibrant but in need of weeding. The gravel pathways spilled out onto the grass, and the manor itself was in need of repair.

    Harald felt immense relief when K¨¢rsek straightened and was able to walk unaided. The dwarf¡¯s visage was still pale, but his gaze was focused, his manner stern.

    ¡°How¡­ I mean, what was that?¡± Harald pitched his voice low. ¡°How did you knock a Gold-ranked raider through the wall?¡±

    K¨¢rsek grimaced. ¡°My power is not yet consolidated, and I haven¡¯t finished imbuing my rune hammer. My strike was thus weakened, and the process of forming the rune¡­ painful.¡±

    ¡°You mean¡­¡± Harald tried to understand. ¡°That was a weak attack?¡±

    ¡°Hmm,¡± said K¨¢rsek, his dissatisfaction evident. ¡°It was. But it was sufficient for us to escape, so I shall not complain too much.¡±

    Harald raked a shaky hand through his hair. His mind boggled. What sort of power was his new friend going to manifest if he was displeased with what he¡¯d just done?

    They all seemed partially stunned by the violence and speed of the last few minutes, and walked behind Bosworth in silence. Harald took in the grounds, willing his pulse to slow down.

    Sonora Manor had the same bones as his own, but wasn¡¯t nearly so sunken into disrepair. The large windows with leaded glass panes were washed and no doubt allowed plenty of light to stream into the interior, while the slate roof appeared in good and uniform repair.

    But even here there were signs of neglect. The stately architecture appeared faded, the paint bleached, and moss had begun to grow in hard-to-reach areas.

    The large front door opened, and another servant in Sonora livery emerged to stare frostily at their gathered party. A short man, circular in body but with a head made triangular by his prodigious nose, he wore a monocle over one eye and his pale skin was flushed pink as if by exertion or constant choler.

    ¡°Master Carmine,¡± he called, tone brassy and stern. ¡°Lady Ermarine. You are early and bring unexpected company.¡±

    ¡°Rivik!¡± Vic bounded up the stairs with a grin before Bosworth could expostulate. ¡°Ah, you¡¯re as ever a sight for sore eyes. So punctilious, so severe, so¡­ adult. We were, I fear, forced into arriving early. No, I swear it. Pacing outside your front gate? An enraged Lady Yseult Khan of House Celestara, demanding that the countess expel my boon companion here so she can kidnap him. May I introduce Samantha Tuppins, K¨¢rsek, and the target of Lady Yseult¡¯s wrath, Sir Harald Darrowdelve?¡±

    Rivik blanched and looked to Bosworth for confirmation, who nodded grimly.

    ¡°Then we¡¯d best skip the small talk and proceed within. We must alert the countess immediately. If you will all follow me.¡±

    Harald exchanged a glance with Sam.

    They passed into the spacious entrance hall whose floors were of polished marble, though here and there some of the expansive tiles were cracked or chipped. Tapestries hung from the walls alongside other signs of heraldry, but though the colors were faded, Harald felt drawn to the designs and the stories displayed therein.

    There wasn¡¯t time to dally, however. Rivik marched swiftly toward the back, leading them into a great hall with high ceilings and exposed wooden beams, a large fireplace dead in one side and an array of mismatched furniture creating an atmosphere of faded grandeur. On and through to the open door of a library, where he paused to click his heels together and give a sharp bow.

    ¡°Countess, your dinner guests have arrived. Master Carmine has seen fit to invite Lady Tuppins, Master K¨¢rsek, and Sir Darrowdelve. They have also brought an enraged Lady Yseult Khan to your gate, who I believe is still there, and asks for you to eject Sir Darrowdelve into her custody.¡±

    Vic glided into the room, his golden hair gleaming in the lantern light, his arms spread wide as if to embrace the countess who arose from her reading chair in the corner.

    ¡°Lady Sonora, the sight of you as ever gladdens my heart and restores my faith in womanhood everywhere. Thank you for this most gracious of invites, and my most sincere apologies to have dragged this trouble to your doorstep. You recall Harald Darrowdelve? House Celestara just attempted to kidnap him following his declining their invitation to join. We stole Lady Yseult¡¯s carriage, and you won¡¯t believe the drama and excitement that ensued as we raced here in search of sanctuary.¡±

    They followed Vic into the library, which was a small room whose walls were lined with bookshelves stuffed with books of all kinds. A thick rug covered the marble floor, and evening light filtered in through tall vertical windows.

    Countess Sonora set aside her book as she rose to her feet. She wore an understated but exquisite gown of forest green velvet, the rich fabric catching the soft lantern light that filled the room. Her orange-red hair was styled simply, swept back and held in place with a silver hairpin, with a few curls falling to frame her freckled face.

    ¡°Vic.¡± Her welcoming smile disappeared. ¡°You jest?¡±

    Rivik coughed. ¡°Bosworth has confirmed the outlines of this claim. Lady Yseult Khan was waiting outside your gate for you to eject Harald Darrowdelve.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± said Harald. ¡°Truly. I wish I had another safe harbor to flee to, but in the heat of the moment, only your estate felt like a viable option. I regret bringing you into my personal problems.¡±

    ¡°You have indeed placed me in a precarious situation.¡± Countess Sonora studied him. ¡°You declined Lady Yseult¡¯s invitation? May I ask why?¡±

    ¡°For the same reason I asked Vic to bring me here tonight.¡± The moment was upon him, and Harald realized that he felt far more uncertain than he¡¯d anticipated. Not because he¡¯d come to question his decision, but on some level he¡¯d thought he¡¯d be doing her an immense favor by offering his services, striding into her beleaguered estate to bless her with his prowess and fame.

    But now Lady Yseult Khan stood outside her gate, with all of Melisende¡¯s influence and power behind her. He would be asking her to directly shield him from House Celestara, and as he met her shrewd stare, he felt far less confident of his advantages.

    ¡°As you know, the major Houses have been expressing interest in my career. House Celestara has been particularly aggressive, and Lady Yseult Khan was¡­ very displeased when I turned down their offer. She demanded I return with her to Celestara Manor, and when I refused, indicated that she was willing to use any amount of force to compel me.¡±

    The countess frowned. ¡°Lady Yseult is renowned for her power. How did you defy her?¡±

    Harald hesitated. Should he reveal K¨¢rsek¡¯s power? ¡°Her arrogance was her downfall. Our combined abilities were just enough to allow us to slip out of her grasp and claim her carriage. She gave chase, and even now I guess wants to¡­ I don¡¯t know. Force me to join? Make me disappear?¡±

    The countess nodded.

    ¡°The other Houses have made their own offers in turn, but I¡¯ve no interest in joining with a major house. Mine has always been a minor but independent lineage, and I¡¯ve come to realize how much I value being my own person. But the realities of Flutic mean I can¡¯t continue to stand on my own. So, after conferring with Vic and Nessa, I realized that a course of action remained open to me that I think would benefit all involved.¡±

    Her stare was piercing, her hazel green eyes as focused on him as those of a peregrine falcon.

    Harald gathered himself then knelt on the carpet, his expression fixed and determined. ¡°Countess Sonora, I, Harald Darrowdelve, humbly offer my service and loyalty to your house. By my honor and my blade, I pledge to uphold your cause and defend your interests, while humbly requesting that my duties allow me the independence to pursue personal projects as well. With this vow, I dedicate myself to you and the prosperity of House Sonora, seeking only to balance our mutual goals.¡±

    His voice rang out in the parlor, and he did his best to ignore the shocked expressions on his companions¡¯ faces. Had he presumed too much? Made his offer too soon? Suddenly nervous, he tried for a smile. ¡°That is, of course, if you will have me.¡±

    The countess studied him, her expression cool, her lips pursed. ¡°Please, Harald, rise.¡±

    Suddenly wrong-footed, he rose and sat, his stomach tightening. He strove to remain as poised as she.

    ¡°If I understand correctly, you have turned down the offers of far greater Houses, namely House Celestara, because you feared they would demand too much of you?¡±

    ¡°I - yes. But not only that, their goals, their methods - I¡¯ve no interest in enriching Houses who already have everything and only want more. I want only room to grow strong so that I may one day be of service as well. And House Sonora seems¡­¡±

    He sought the right words that wouldn¡¯t give offense.

    ¡°What Harald is trying to say,¡± began Vic, but the countess cut him off with a sharply raised hand, her eyes never leaving Harald.

    ¡°Allow Master Darrowdelve to speak for himself.¡±

    ¡°All I¡¯m trying to express, Lady Sonora, is that I believe we could both benefit from my serving your House. My strength can further your cause and goals, while your House will shield me from Gold-ranked raiders like the one outside your gate who are intent on removing me from the board.¡±

    Countess Sonora sat back down in her chair and laid one finger along her lips. ¡°I see. Because my House, being insignificant, will nullify you as a threat to their future interests?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± began Harald, but the countess spoke smoothly over him.

    ¡°Or perhaps it is that you see in me a young and impressionable patron whose desperation and dire straits will make me easily swayed and manipulated? Someone who won¡¯t interfere or complain too much when you declare yourself too busy with your own affairs, even as I throw my meager resources into constraining far mightier Houses?¡±

    Harald flushed. ¡°Absolutely not. This is a serious offer. I have spoken at length with both Vic and Nessa about it, and truly believe we would both benefit.¡±

    ¡°I see.¡± Her tone was chill. ¡°And I benefit how, precisely?¡±

    ¡°I¡­ I would fight to further your interests, harvest scales alongside Vic and Nessa, I¡¯d uphold your honor, do everything that a loyal member of your household would do.¡±

    ¡°As long as it doesn¡¯t interfere too much with your existing plans.¡±

    ¡°My lady, please. I didn¡¯t mean to give insult. This offer is sincerely made, and I would take my oath seriously.¡±

    ¡°Your oath to uphold my cause and defend my interests.¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°What are my interests, Harald? What is my cause?¡±

    ¡°To restore your household to its former glory by beating back your foes.¡±

    ¡°And what would that entail?¡±

    Harald fought to remain calm. ¡°I know you¡¯ve lost your mine and various holdings in Marheim. I know that you¡¯ve been attacked here in Flutic.¡±

    ¡°Too vague. You¡¯re swearing your blade to my cause. What would that require of you, here in the capital?¡±

    Harald didn¡¯t know what to say. He knew better than to glance at Vic for help.

    ¡°You don¡¯t know, which means you don¡¯t care.¡± Sonora drew herself up. ¡°You offer your oath without knowing what you¡¯re swearing to, and in the same breath insult me by demanding my requirements not to infringe in your pursuit of your own goals even as you expect me to rebuff House Celestara without any thought to what that would cost me. My house may have lost much in terms of stature and wealth, but we have not lost our dignity.¡±

    Countess Sonora stood. Chin raised, eyes glittering, she glared at him. ¡°So no, Harald. I refuse your offer of service. You will have to find another hapless house to act as your safe harbor from the storms that follow you. Now please, be so kind as to leave my property.¡±

 Chapter 86

    Harald felt the walls of the library press in around him. His breath felt strangled in his throat, and he couldn¡¯t tear his gaze away from Countess Sonora.

    How had he miscalculated so badly?

    Not only had he failed in impressing her, he¡¯d given terrible offense.

    The library was still but for the crackling of the fire. Nobody seemed to breathe. Sam¡¯s face was pale, Nessa¡¯s alarmed, K¨¢rsek was a statue by the door, and even Vic¡¯s jaw was clenched in shock.

    Harald dry swallowed. He felt shivery and loose, and for just a moment his thoughts swirled, his pride bidding him bow and face Lady Yseult by himself.

    But those were the thoughts of the old Harald.

    He now had Ego 23.

    He would not be so easily browbeaten.

    ¡°With all due respect,¡± he ground out, hands curling into fists. ¡°If you reject my offer out of wounded pride then you are a fool.¡±

    The countess¡¯ head rocked back as if he¡¯d just kicked her in the chin, and Vic immediately began to signal surreptitiously for Harald to quit.

    ¡°What did you just say?¡±

    ¡°Pride is a luxury neither of us can afford. My home is in the process of being seized by the Flutic Treasury even as we speak. All of my belongings, my family inheritance, was sold at auction to a pack of scavengers. In a matter of days, I will be evicted onto the streets with nothing more than my friends, Artifacts, and Servitor to my name.¡±

    He said these words as if they were weapons, hammering them home. Countess Sonora listened, eyes wide, face pale, chin still raised.

    ¡°But I don¡¯t care. Pride is as nothing to me now. I care only for one thing, and that is earning the strength with which to make a difference. Not to get rich. Not to acquire status. I care nothing for being a knight or having people bow to me. I only want - no, need - to be able to kill anything and everything that threatens the people of Flutic. Why? I¡¯m not quite sure myself. But that is the infernal engine that drives me on. That demands my all. That forces me to heave myself up from the ground each and every time I think myself broken, think myself defeated, when I think I have nothing left.¡±

    He felt dangerous. Felt a sense of mastery befalling him. His presence was expanding to fill the room, to choke out the light, to magnify his voice.

    ¡°Each time I¡¯ve thought I had nothing left to give, I proved myself wrong. And now my growth in power has caught the eyes of the very jackals and hyenas that feast on the rotting corpse of Flutic. Who care nothing for the hundreds killed by the Shuddering. They want to claim my sword, my will, my bloody-minded desire for power so that they can use me for their own misbegotten ends. They thought they could intimidate me, cow me, threaten me into submission.¡±

    Now it was Harald¡¯s turn to raise his chin, to gaze down the length of his nose at Sonora, and when he smiled, he was confident it was ghastly. ¡°But they were wrong. I refused them all. Not even Lady Yseult Khan could yoke me to her harness. I will rise with my friends and I shall harvest scales and I shall grow in power till my name challenges our greatest legends, and even then I shall not be content. Nothing shall stop me, my lady, but even so I must navigate the maze of politics that riddle this city like maggots riddle a corpse. I am not blind to the perils that threaten me, so I have need of your house. I have need of your name. You shall stand between me and the vultures and the hyenas and you will deflect them, deter them from fucking with my growth. You will use your connections to House Drakenhart. You will use your cunning, your wit, your tenacity, and you shall be the safe harbor that shall shield me from the storm.¡±

    Nobody spoke.

    Countess Sonora¡¯s chest was rising and falling, and twin spots of color had risen to her cheeks. Whether from fury or a reaction to his own murderous certainty or some other emotion he couldn¡¯t tell.

    But she was hearing him.

    She knew that he spoke his truth.

    ¡°And in exchange? I shall lend you my sword. Your foes shall become my foes. Your goals my goals. You have lost much. I know how that feels. Unlike me, however, you yet have pride. You wish to restore your House and name to its former glory. That¡¯s fine. I don¡¯t judge your ambitions. But you are failing. Your best weapons are Vic and Nessa, and while I am coming to love them as a brother and sister, I know that they are not enough. You need more. You see the darkness closing in. Your coffers are empty. Your servants and guards and soldiers fled. You stand bravely alone against a horde of enemies, but you know that pride is insufficient, that bravery becomes madness unless you can turn the tide of battle.¡±

    Harald took a step toward her. ¡°But you are not mad. You are bold and calculating and resolute and desperate. You cling to your pride and your anger and you will not bend knee, but not all who bow do so willingly. Some bend knee because they are broken by forces far greater than they.¡±

    He took another step closer.

    ¡°But with my help, the tide of this battle may turn. I have at my disposal an unending ocean of wrath and determination that shall batter your foes apart and whittle down their resolve. I have at my command the fruits of my labor, Artifacts of Masterclass level and a Servitor won from the 27<sup>th</sup> Level. I bring with me a bloody-minded desire for conquest unlike anything Flutic has seen in centuries, and your foes will not understand what manner of monster opposes them until it is far, far too late.¡±

    His voice felt inexorable, seemed to come from somewhere distant, the words issuing from his mouth as if of their own accord.

    Never had he been so certain.

    Never had he felt so overwhelmingly competent and sure.

    ¡°You need me as I need you, my lady. I need your harbor, you need my storm. I will not pretend to be a milquetoast knight who will follow you around at all hours of the day and guard your chamber at night. I have murderous business to attend, but the fruits of that labor shall be laid upon your altar and oh, my lady, how your foes shall tremble when we rise up against them, united in purpose, unstoppable, ungovernable, and utterly unwilling to desist until all that has been taken from you is rightfully yours once more.¡±

    One more step, and then Harald knelt before Lady Sonora. He gazed up at her, and felt his gaze to be mesmerizing, knew that for all the world she could not look away, not if the manor began to collapse or the very world to end.

    ¡°Which is why I say to you: accept my service. Accept my oath. But nod your head, and I shall swear it to you again, here, now, and forevermore.¡±

    Nobody moved.

    Nobody so much as blinked.

    Countess Sonora stared at him as if bewitched, and then, almost imperceptibly, she nodded.

    ¡°Countess Sonora, I, Harald Darrowdelve, humbly offer my service and loyalty to your house. By my honor and my blade, I pledge to uphold your cause, defend your interests, and strive for your glory. With this vow, I dedicate myself to you and the prosperity of House Sonora, seeking only to balance our mutual goals."

    Finally, the countess dry swallowed. Without looking away, she extended her hand to Vic, who fumbled back to life, drew his blade, and handed it to her.

    ¡°Sir Harald Darrowdelve, I, Countess Anna Sonora of House Sonora, do hereby accept your service.¡± She paused, hesitant, eyes still wide, and then visibly gathered herself and continued. ¡°Your loyalty to House Sonora will not be taken for granted, and I will ensure your duties allow you the freedom to pursue your personal endeavors. Together¡­ together we shall strive to restore the honor and strength of our house. Welcome to House Sonora, Sir Harald.¡±If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    And she lightly touched each of his shoulders with the flat of Vic¡¯s blade before passing it back to him.

    For a moment the tableaux remained thus, Harald kneeling before the stunned countess, and then she passed her hand over her eyes. ¡°I must¡­ I must speak with Lady Yseult Khan. Please await me here.¡±

    And she strode from the parlor and was gone.

    The sound of metallic stars ringing out against the void filled his mind:

    The Demon Seed Has Stirred

    Your Presence has risen from 9 to 11

    Harald blinked as he came back to himself. For a moment he felt dizzy, so that he reared up and staggered back to sit in his chair once more. Had he just said all that? What exactly had he even said? He couldn¡¯t quite recall the words, just the feeling of authority and mastery, of knowing what needed to be done, and having the strength to do it.

    ¡°Well I¡¯m be damned,¡± said Vic. ¡°Harald. Where the fuck did that come from?¡±

    Nessa let out a shaky laugh and then cut it off by clamping her hand over her mouth.

    Sam stepped up beside Harald, placed her hand on his shoulder, and her Beacon of Hope filled the air, sank into his core, and eased the sudden sense of strain and panic that was beginning to fill him.

    Harald felt his shoulders sag and placed his hand over her own, drawing strength from her.

    Vic plunged his fingers into his golden hair. ¡°By the weeping Seraphites and every demonic cock that ever slew a virgin, what the fuck was that?¡± He glanced about their group. ¡°I couldn¡¯t breathe. Couldn¡¯t think! I felt¡­ I felt ready to go to war, to laugh, to swear my own allegiance to you, Harry-boy! Where did you learn to talk like that?¡±

    ¡°That was incredible,¡± said Sam quietly. ¡°Was that¡­ was that you?¡±

    ¡°It was,¡± Harald managed to say. He took a deep breath, and with the aid of her Beacon he managed to stand up straight and crack a smile. ¡°It just came through me in a rush. All the things I believe, that I¡¯ve felt these past few weeks, that needed to be said.¡±

    ¡°By the angels, can you do that whenever you want?¡± Vic was pacing now. ¡°You could convince anyone to agree to my schemes. You could enter politics, you could¡­ I don¡¯t even know!¡±

    ¡°No, I don¡¯t think so.¡± Harald checked within himself, and felt that power gone. ¡°It felt true, and I felt able to speak it as such. That¡¯s¡­ if anything, what gave my words their power. It wasn¡¯t an Ability or the like. Just¡­ this is my life, Vic. These are my dreams. The outcome of this meeting was literally life or death. I had to give it my all.¡±

    ¡°And that you fucking well did. Bah!¡± Vic collapsed onto the settee and covered his eyes, then bolted to his feet to grab his brandy from the sideboard and drink half of it in one go. ¡°I¡¯ve still got the chills. In fact, if that had continued for much longer -¡±

    ¡°Vic, darling, you¡¯re babbling.¡± Nessa smoothed down her dress and smiled at Harald. ¡°It would seem congratulations are in order.¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡± He smiled. ¡°I¡¯m now officially part of House Sonora. Goodbye, House Darrowdelve.¡±

    Countess Sonora appeared in the archway again. Her face was pale, her mouth a thin line, and she stood nervously as if preparing to face a hanging judge.

    Harald rose to his feet, and then, with great deliberation, bowed low.

    The countess strode quickly to her chair, took up her brandy, and drank. Then, setting aside her glass, she gestured for everyone to be seated.

    ¡°I had no idea you could prove so¡­ persuasive,¡± she said at last. ¡°You showed no sign of such¡­ overwhelming force of character before.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m a little shocked myself,¡± grinned Harald, determined to set her at ease. ¡°Also, I doubt anyone would spend any time with me if I went around talking like that. ¡®Pass me the butter, for destiny commands it.¡¯ Right?¡±

    The countess didn¡¯t smile, but something in her gaze softened. ¡°Remarkable. For a moment there I felt as if I beheld not a man, but¡­¡± She gave a sharp shake of her head.

    ¡°Oh, fear not,¡± said Vic, refilling his glass. ¡°Harald is most definitely a man. Well. He used to be. Right up till he became so serious about training.¡±

    ¡°And Lady Yseult?¡± asked Harald.

    ¡°Gone from my gate. She must have decided it was beneath her dignity to await word after a certain point.¡±

    A shuddery sense of relief passed through Harald. ¡°Thank the angels.¡±

    ¡°You must tell her about Vorakhar,¡± said Nessa abruptly. ¡°It¡¯s not fair to her otherwise, and she¡¯s now your liege. You owe her the truth.¡±

    ¡°Vorakhar?¡± asked the countess, tone sharp. ¡°That¡¯s ¨C that¡¯s one of the demon princes, is it not?¡± Her eyes widened. ¡°Oh. Wait. Wait, wait, wait -¡±

    ¡°No,¡± said Harald, reaching out to forestall her. ¡°I am very much my own person. Please don¡¯t leap to conclusions. But yes. Nessa¡¯s right. Now is the time. Now that you are my liege, I can be completely honest with you, and if what I say dismays you overmuch, well, then you can dismiss me from your service and I¡¯ll understand.¡±

    The countess stared at him, actively waiting.

    So, he told her. From beginning to end, about his ill-fated visit to the dungeon¡¯s first floor, Vorakhar¡¯s visit, the Demon Seed, and everything that came thereafter.

    Harald kept the tale succinct but left nothing out.

    When finally he was done, Countess Sonora was wide-eyed all over again, her hands tightly clasped in her lap.

    ¡°I mean, that Harald,¡± said Vic conversationally, bouncing one leg that was crossed over the other. ¡°What a complicated guy. Still, I¡¯m friends with him. So is Nessa. Even after learning these terrifying truths. We formed the Throne Hunters charter after he told us all this, which could quite possibly be an indictment of our sanity. But the rest of us have nothing to do with demons, and we still have faith in Harry.¡±

    ¡°Agreed,¡± said Nessa. ¡°When I first found out, I felt truly betrayed. But¡­ in Flutic, I¡¯ve come to appreciate people for what they do over what they say. And what I¡¯ve seen of Harald since his run-in with Vorakhar has convinced me that he¡¯s genuinely doing his best to grow in strength with integrity. That he can be trusted. That he needs us as much as I think, one day, Flutic will need him.¡±

    Countess Sonora was nodding slowly, not so much because she was agreeing, Harald thought, but because she was just taking in what both of her erstwhile servants had to say.

    ¡°I have made no oath to Vorakhar,¡± said Harald softly. ¡°What dealings with him I¡¯ve had are because I¡¯ve had no choice. But I swear to you that I live only to destroy him, and hope for nothing better than to turn his gifts against him.¡±

    ¡°This¡­ is a lot,¡± said Countess Sonora. ¡°Your Class, your Abilities¡­ they¡¯re demonic in origin?¡±

    ¡°Not quite. They¡¯re being influenced by the Demon Seed, but originate with the Fallen Angel.¡±

    ¡°I was there when he was given his Class,¡± said Sam. ¡°It¡¯s when I earned my own, Netherwarden Knight, and when my Soul Nature and Rank changed. I believe¡­ I know it may sound pretentious, but I truly believe the Fallen Angel intervened so that I can help Harald. My Soul Rank rose from Rare to Divine, and my Soul Ability changed to reflect my new role.¡±

    ¡°Would you share it with me?¡± asked Countess Sonora softly.

    ¡°Yes. You are the beacon that cleaves through night¡¯s veil, the unwavering luminescence that guides the lost and forlorn. Your strength is a promise to the world: a light that not only reveals, but elevates. And my Soul Ability is: Your light transcends mere physical radiance, becoming a beacon for souls adrift in both darkness and doubt. Your journey illuminates paths not just through the world, but through the hearts of all you encounter.¡±

    Harald reached up to squeeze Sam¡¯s hand again, feeling inordinately proud of her.

    ¡°Remarkable,¡± whispered the countess. ¡°A Netherwarden Knight. And yet nobody is speaking of you. How can that be?¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s insanely talented at not drawing attention to herself,¡± said Vic. ¡°It¡¯s her one true character flaw.¡±

    The countess blinked. ¡°If I am to have the service of an Abyssal Initiate, then I would have the service of the Netherwarden Knight who is tasked with guiding him. Will you swear to me as well, Samantha Tuppins?¡±

    Sam clenched her fists and visibly swallowed. For a moment she simply stared at the countess, her face turning blotchy, and then she gave a sharp shake of her head. ¡°No. I can¡¯t do that.¡±

    ¡°Can¡¯t?¡± asked the countess mildly.

    ¡°Won¡¯t. I was oathsworn before, to Harald¡¯s family. I¡­ I will never relinquish my freedom again.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡± The countess raised her hand to cover her mouth, ¡°My apologies, I didn¡¯t know. Of course. I don¡¯t hold with that custom. When I took control of my House, I released everyone who had been oathsworn to my father.¡±

    ¡°Bad move,¡± said Vic examining his nails. ¡°Seeing as they all left your service immediately thereafter.¡±

    ¡°Vic,¡± snapped Nessa in real annoyance.

    ¡°No, he¡¯s correct. They did depart,¡± said the countess. ¡°But I wouldn¡¯t have held them here against their will regardless. Be that as it may, I hope you remain close, Miss Tuppins. There is much going on here that I don¡¯t yet understand, but it¡¯s clear that your friendship is of great importance to Harald.¡±

    ¡°Yes, my lady,¡± said Sam, easing up just a little. ¡°I don¡¯t plan on disappearing just yet.¡±

    Harald smiled gratefully up at Sam.

    ¡°Well.¡± The countess blinked, as if coming back to the issue at hand. ¡°I¡­ I can¡¯t give you a definitive answer just yet on how I feel about your dealings with this demon prince. It¡­ complicates matters greatly. But I will think on it, and speak with you first, Harald, before I reach a decision.¡±

    ¡°Understood,¡± said Harald, rising to his feet. ¡°Shall I await your summons, then?¡±

    ¡°Yes, I think that best. Thank you, for your offer of service, for swearing your oath, and your honesty. I won¡¯t reveal what you¡¯ve shared with me with anyone else.¡±

    They all rose to their feet and filed out into the entrance hall.

    ¡°Always a pleasure,¡± said Vic, kissing Countess Sonora¡¯s hand.

    ¡°Countess,¡± said Nessa, executing a shallow bow.

    Sam curtsied again, K¨¢rsek bowed, and then Harald stood before her. ¡°Thank you for hearing me out,¡± he said softly. ¡°And for being willing to consider my story. I look forward to hearing from you.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± said Sonora. ¡°I¡­ if anything, I believe the other Houses have underestimated your worth, Sir Darrowdelve. Harald. I¡¯ll send word soon. This won¡¯t be a matter I sit on.¡±

    ¡°I appreciate that.¡± Harald bowed low, and then turned toward the door. ¡°Until then.¡±

    They stepped out into the darkness and descended to their waiting carriage.

    Harald climbed in last, and looked up at the open doorway to Sonora Manor where the countess yet stood, watching them leave.

    He raised his hand in parting, and a moment later, just as their carriage began to roll away, she raised her own and waved back.

 Book 3 - Chapter 1

    It took two days to hear from Countess Sonora, but Harald wasted no time in sitting around waiting. He and his companions resumed their training regimen with all intensity. K¨¢rsek remained in the shed, the door closed, and nobody saw fit to disturb him.

    The big change, however, was Vic deciding to train with them.

    ¡°What?¡± demanded the golden-haired Rapier Regent when Harald descended to the entrance hall at Sixth Bell the next morning. Vic stood in training gear, his manner sullen, his only signature of personal flair being a red sash he¡¯d tied rakishly around his waist.

    Otherwise he looked trim and ready to run.

    ¡°Are you lost?¡± Harald attempted a concerned expression. ¡°I can point you to the kitchen if you like. You have to pass through it to reach the wine cellar.¡±

    ¡°Oh, such scathing wit,¡± said Vic. ¡°If only you could fight Thracos with your peerless sarcasm. How humiliating it would be for the both of you.¡±

    Sam had yet to arrive, so Harald simply crossed his arms and studied his friend. ¡°Seriously though. Did you need something? Or have you been up all night?¡±

    ¡°Seriously, though,¡± mimicked Vic, ¡°go to the 87th Level of the dungeon and see what happens.¡± He sighed. ¡°Look. I¡¯m not an irrationally confident man. I can grasp when the environment is changing and I¡¯m being left behind.¡±

    ¡°The two blows I landed during our duel.¡±

    ¡°Galling. Actually, what¡¯s the word for worse that galling?¡±

    ¡°Humiliating?¡±

    ¡°That. But more. Last night, at the countess¡¯s¡­¡± Vic trailed off, frowning. ¡°You showed something there, a quality that gave me chills. The way you spoke, the way you simply willed her to agree with you¡­ I don¡¯t know, Harry-boy. It woke me right the hell up.¡±

    ¡°Hmm,¡± said Harald. ¡°So you decided to start¡­ running?¡±

    ¡°Start everything.¡± Vic ran his hands distractedly over his golden hair. ¡°There was a time¡ªnow, don¡¯t laugh¡ªwhen I took my training seriously. I was blessed with an inordinate amount of natural talent, and a facility for learning beyond anything that my instructors had seen¡ªbut even so, I took training seriously. A time when I was bright eyed and innocent, when I thought the equation of life a simple one: the more effort you put in, the greater the results.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s usually how it works.¡±

    ¡°Oh Harald.¡± Vic¡¯s smile was patronizing. ¡°That¡¯s true right until you run afoul of someone more powerful than you, be it a corner bully, an abusive guardsman, or depraved nobleman who takes a fancy to you. We don¡¯t operate in a void. The world always inteferes. So I¡­ well. I started putting more effort into deflecting the world, and found myself equally good if not better at politics and charm than sword play and raiding.¡±

    ¡°But?¡±

    ¡°But. Indeed.¡± Vic sighed. ¡°I am growing long in the tooth, Harald. I feel old age creeping up on me. Soon my hair will gray, my joints will swell, and I¡¯ll piss blood while my eyes fall out.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think that¡¯s how it works. And aren¡¯t you only, like, 23 summers old?¡±

    Vic waved his hand. ¡°My point is that I need to start taking things seriously again. Nessa is Level 5. You¡¯re at my very own level, and at your rate, will soon be catching up with Nessa. If there¡¯s one thing I hate, it¡¯s being superfluous. So here I am, at this angel-blasted hour, ready to run in circles till I feel uncomfortable and wish to die.¡±

    The front door opened to admit Sam, who stared at Vic in surprise. ¡°Hello. Lose your way to the wine cellar?¡±

    ¡°Everyone¡¯s a wit,¡± moaned Vic. ¡°Can we please skip the wry commentary and just get to the running?¡±

    Vic was more than able to keep up with them both, though he muttered curses throughout, and when they returned he descended with them to the gym to tackle the Marheim weights.

    This he was quite voluble about detesting, but he strained and grudgingly accepted Sam¡¯s advice on how to structure his own regimen.

    Harald thre himself at every exercise, whether it was climbing the rope or vaulting the horses, hauling the sand bags or working his way hand by hand down the horizontal ceiling ladder.

    When finally they were done, Vic was drenched in sweat, his mood foul, and unwilling to answer anything beyond grunts and rude gestures.

    But he joined them for a hearty breakfast, and when Nessa descended, rolled his eyes at her own raillery and demanded loudly that they proceed to strictly silent sword drills.

    And so the day passed.

    For all Vic¡¯s apparent hatred of exercise, he held nothing back, and threw himself into each challenge, spar, and drill with keen intensity.

    ¡°Incredible,¡± Nessa said to Harald as they tidied up in the gym, Sam and Vic having ascended to prepare a late lunch. ¡°Are you sure that¡¯s our Vic, and not some terrible doppelganger?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m as surprised as you are.¡± Harald heaved a corpse bag over one shoulder to carry it back to the closet. ¡°But I think the real test will be whether he joins us tomorrow morning.¡±

    He did.

    Stiff and scowling, Vic worked his way through his own series of stretches before Sam showed up, then trailed them around and around Season¡¯s Park. He never sought to catch up, and refused to acknowledge their presence, but he never fell completely out of view either, limping and hobbling along as he fought through his aches.

    Word arrived early that morning that the Countess would like to see them for lunch, and Harald noticed the relief from all of his companions.

    Nobody had mentioned it, but everyone had been worried the countess would go to the Seraphites instead of sending for them.

    ¡°Unless, of course, she already has,¡± pointed out Vic, buttoning up his doublet as he descended the grand staircase, hair gleaming and freshly washed. ¡°There could be an entire squadorn of inquistors awaiting in her library, complete with braziers, tongs, and other nasty toys.¡±

    ¡°Thanks,¡± said Harald dryly, adjusting his belt. ¡°That¡¯s just what I needed to hear.¡±

    The best that could be said about Vic¡¯s smile was that it was insincere.

    Sam was supposed to arrive with a hired carriage, so Harald took the opportunity of going around back to check on K¨¢rsek. The dwarf had been keeping to himself ever since their return from Countess Sonora¡¯s, but Harald felt ill at ease ignoring him for too long.

    ¡°K¨¢rsek?¡± He rapped on the shed door. ¡°You in there?¡±

    ¡°Come in, Master Darrowdelve,¡± came the somber voice.

    Harald pushed the door open, half expecting the shed to have been turned into a dwarven hall, complete with miniature pillars and a small golden anvil, but instead he simply saw K¨¢rsek sitting at the back on a cushion, legs crossed, hands resting on his knees.

    He wore a sober gown of charcoal gray, its edges embroidered with complex geometric patterns of golden thread, and a heavy hammer lay on the floor before him, a weapon of wondrous appearance.A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

    Its head was a perfect rectangle and made of jet black stone, while the haft and bindings were of gold and silver, the handle of silver wiring crosshatching over some ebon fur.

    The weapon resonated with power, pulsing as if with its own heartbeat, and Harald felt his mouth dry as he gazed upon it.

    ¡°Yes,¡± agreed K¨¢rsek, as if to some unspoken question. ¡°My attunement is nearly complete. I have bent my will to infusing this rune hammer since the thane of Deepforge gave it to me. Soon I shall be ready to delve with our team once more.¡±

    ¡°I¡­ I see. Your rune hammer?¡±

    ¡°Indeed.¡± K¨¢rsek studied the weapon, and Harald studied the dwarf. It was still the same young man, his hair tawny brown with red highlights, his beard barely grown in, his eyes flecked and bright. But otherwise he seemed utterly changed; he had an air of gravitas and dignity that was far in excess of the dwarf¡¯s previous decorum, and Harald felt as if the very air was churning about the seated dwarf.

    ¡°A rune hammer is a potent weapon in and of itself, and where I will layer my magics so that they are active at all times. But its true utility lies in acting as my conduit, allowing me to release the first Rune that I have summoned, Khazadrok, the Rune of Destruction.¡±

    The name of that ruin reverberated within Harald¡¯s mind, as if it had been accompanied by distant thunder strikes, as if a hundred hammers had beaten down on steel anvils at the very same instant, causing Harald to flinch.

    ¡°The same rune you used on Yseult Khan.¡±

    ¡°Indeed,¡± agreed K¨¢rsek. ¡°It is a potent rune, and why I chose it for my first. In time I shall summon others, but for now it shall serve me best in the dungeon.¡±

    ¡°So it¡¯s inside your hammer? Like an Artifact¡¯s ability?¡±

    ¡°Akin, but no. The Rune imbues the rune hammer, so that every time I hit a foe the rune is invoked and my foe assaulted by its power. Few are the beings that can withstand a direct hit from its power. I can, of course, also summon the Rune into being and send it forth before me, as I did with Lady Yseult Khan, destroying anything that means us ill.¡±

    Harald tried desperately to not feel over-awed. ¡°No kidding. You sent a Gold ranked raider through the parlor wall.¡±

    K¨¢rsek bowed his head. ¡°The attack was greatly diminished for not being channeled through my hammer. Also, it is important to note that the power of the rune diminishes the farther it gets for me. I am but newly on the path of Dreadrune. In time I shall grow into my class¡¯s potential, and then I shall truly be an asset in your war.¡±

    ¡°I mean, K¨¢rsek¡­ you already are. I¡¯m¡­ I don¡¯t know how to thank you for all this. I wouldn¡¯t be standing here without you. Seriously. I can¡¯t thank you enough forw hat you¡¯re doing. For us, for the Throne Hunters crew.¡±

    K¨¢rsek bowed his head. ¡°You are my thark?n. No thanks are necessary. What I do I do from necessity. I pray only that I accumulate sufficient power to do what needs to be done when it time befalls us both.¡±

    Harald couldn¡¯t quite parse that last statement, so he let it slide. ¡°Well, you have my thanks regardless. We¡¯re ah, we¡¯ve been summoned back to Countess Sonora¡¯s estate to hear her decision on my offer. I thought I¡¯d check in on you, see if you wanted to come along, or just hang out here till we return¡­?¡±

    K¨¢rsek frowned then stood, lifting his hammer as he did so. The great weapon appeared weightless in his grip, and almost immediately faded from view like an Artifact being returned to one¡¯s Cosmos.

    ¡°Yes, I think it fitting that I formalize my relationship with the countess. As she has accepted your service, she has become, not your thark?n, but your liege, and thus a person of great importance to me.¡±

    ¡°Then we should head out front. Sam¡¯s due to arrive with a carriage.¡±

    K¨¢rsek nodded and followed Harald to the manor entrance. It was so strange. K¨¢rsek¡¯s clothing was fine enough for a dwarvish lord, made of thick wool over what Harald thought might be a fine silver shirt beneath.

    ¡°Is that armor you¡¯re wearing beneath your tunic?¡±

    ¡°Aye,¡± said K¨¢rsek, not breaking his stride. ¡°Provided by the thane. A mithril shirt of the finest weave. It shall serve me in good stead.¡±

    Harald let out a low whistle. ¡°That¡¯s a handsome gift.¡±

    K¨¢rsek fixed Harald with a hard stare as they walked. ¡°It was not a gift. It became mine when I became a Dreadrune.¡±

    ¡°Oh. Right. I see.¡±

    Sam had already arrived with the hired carriage when they rounded the manor corner, treading carefully over the rubble from the blasted parlor wall, and Nessa and Vic had joined her in the entrance way. They glanced over as Harald approached, and Sam beamed at K¨¢rsek.

    ¡°You¡¯re looking quite handsome today. You decided to join us?¡±

    K¨¢rsek inclined his head gravely. ¡°When last I met Countess Sonora, I was near delirious from channeling my rune unaided. This time, I wish to impress upon the lady the gravity of my obligation if she is to hold my thark?n¡¯s loyalty.¡±

    ¡°Thark?n?¡± asked Nessa.

    K¨¢rsek nodded. ¡°A term for those to whom a life debt is owed.¡±

    Nessa nodded her understanding.

    ¡°K¨¢rsek,¡± began Vic, ¡°your being a Dreadrune, does it require your being so¡­ I don¡¯t know how to put it. Dour? Adult? Heavy?¡±

    ¡°My manner shall change as we grow and raid together, Master Carmine. For now you are all untested in true battle, as am I. My manner is thus reserved and wary, for much rides on our successes. But if we succeed in our ventures and prove ourselves not only reliable but boon companions, then shall my manner become less gruff and more warm.¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± said Vic. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ very direct of you. I understand. Thanks.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ve already fought together,¡± said Nessa cautiously.

    ¡°Only when I was an Earth Mover. Not with me as a Dreadrune.¡± K¨¢rsek inclined his head. ¡°The difference is immeasurable.¡±

    ¡°Well!¡± Sam tried for some cheerfulness. ¡°Then it seems we need to get back into the dungeons as soon as we can.¡±

    ¡°Agreed,¡± said Harald. ¡°This afternoon, perhaps, if the countess has no need of us.¡±

    Everyone nodded.

    ¡°Then let¡¯s get ourselves hence,¡± said Vic, springing into the carriage. ¡°After all this horrific training I¡¯ve been doing, my soul cries for a little pampering.¡±

    They arrived at Lady Sonora¡¯s just after 2nd Bell, and were allowed in once more by Old Bosworth, whose salute was startlingly crisp. Up to the old manor house they rolled, and there were disgorged before the broad front steps.

    Rivik appeared as before, his uniform identical, his expression perhaps a touch less frigid; disdaining pleasantries, he ignored Vic¡¯s teasing to lead them inside to the dining room, where the countess would shortly join them.

    K¨¢rsek inspected everything with grave dignity, and Harald couldn¡¯t help but wonder what the dwarf made of the genteel state of dilapidation. Events had been so fraught and rushed the night before that they¡¯d not had time for civilities. Then again, K¨¢rsek had until a few days ago been a destitute Tinker Dwarf; surely hadn¡¯t turned into a snob overnight?

    They sat and were served salad and clam soup, which Rivik encouraged them to begin. Vic made dark suggestions that this was the easiest way to poison them, but Harald ignored his friend and was nearly halfway through his serving when the countess entered the room.

    ¡°Please, remain seated,¡± she urged, moving to the head of the table. ¡°I appreciate your coming so swiftly.¡±

    Harald studied her carefully. She appeared worn, and though her make-up was applied expertly, he could make out the hints of shadows under her eyes. ¡°But of course, Lady Sonora. We¡¯re at your command. Can I properly introduce Master K¨¢rsek, who is now much recovered and more himself?¡±

    K¨¢rsek rose from his seat to bow low alongside the table, and Sonora, taken back by the dwarf¡¯s immense and palpable dignity, inclined her head graciously in turn.

    ¡°I apologize for being overcome when last I visited your manor, my lady,¡¯ said K¨¢rsek gravely. ¡°I am K¨¢rsek the Dreadrune, a Tinker Dwarf who owes a life debt to Harald Darrowdelve.¡±

    ¡°Countess Anna Sonora. It is a pleasure to properly meet you, Master K¨¢rsek.¡±

    ¡°It is imperative that you know that Master Harald Darrowdelve is my thark?n, meaning that I owe him a life debt, and am wholly loyal to him. Thus, if you are his liege, you may indirectly count on my own assistance, so long as your honor remain true.¡±

    This time the countess took the dwarf¡¯s declaration in stride, bowing her head once more. ¡°Thank you for explaining the matter. I shall do my utmost to remain an honorable liege.¡±

    Pleased, or at any rate temporarily satisfied, K¨¢rsek returned to his seat. Rivik pulled out the countess¡¯s chair, then tucked it back in as she sat, only to hurry away and return with a decanter of juice with which he filled her glass. The second servant, a matronly woman with a face like an anvil, set the countess¡¯ soup and salad before her, and in seconds they both melted away as if they¡¯d never been there.

    ¡°I shall cut right to the heart of the matter,¡± said the countess. ¡°I spent the past two days thinking on our situation, both my own predicament and your own entangled history, and have decided that I am willing to accept your oath.¡±

    Relief flooded through Harald, who inclined his head graciously.

    ¡°That being said, my acceptance is provisional, and dependent on the continued good word from your companions, especially Miss Tuppins in her role as Netherwarden Knight. Should they at any time indicate that you are slipping, or that your¡­ dark patron¡¯s influence is growing, we shall revist this conversation.¡±

    Harald again bowed his head. ¡°That is only fair, Countess.¡±

    ¡°But, assuming that all goes well, I am pleased to welcome you to House Sonora, and look forward to regaining much of our lost glory over the coming months and years.¡±

    ¡°A toast!¡± said Vic, raising his wine glass. ¡°To the inestimable Countess Sonora, and that wretched braggart who has somehow inveigled his way into her service.¡±

    Nessa rolled her eyes and raised her glass. ¡°To House Sonora, and to its imminent return to glory.¡±

    ¡°To good friends,¡± said Sam, her voice hesitant as she blushed. ¡°And to remaining true to our best selves.¡±

    ¡°To honor and duty,¡± said K¨¢rsek.

    ¡°To my new knight,¡± finished the countess, raising her own glass. ¡°Welcome, Sir Darrowdelve.¡±

    Harald raised his glass in turn, and smiled at the gathered company. ¡°To all of you, and to you most of all, my lady. I couldn¡¯t envision a better group of friends or a more noble and deserving liege. Our adventures are just beginning, and that together we¡¯ll not only restore the fortunes of House Sonora, but change and challenge the power structures of Flutic in ways that nobody can yet understand.¡±

    ¡°Here, here!¡± they all cried, and rising they clinked their glasses together, and drank.

 Chapter 8 + The Bastion Deluxe Edition Kickstarter Is Live!

    Harald opened his eyes.

    He was in a strange room. Relief flooded him. Comfortable, clean, with morning sunlight pouring in through large windows. The sheets were soft, his body relaxed and without pain, and -

    A memory came to him.

    - screams erupting from beneath a canvas tarp as he punched the squirming shapes trapped below, punched and broke bones, caused blood to well up to soak the canvas -

    Harald sat up abruptly, eyes wide, hand going to his throat. What the -?

    The sound of metallic stars rang out against the void filled his mind:

    The Demon Seed Has Stirred

    Your Strength has risen from 11 to 12

    Your Dexterity has risen from 11 to 12

    Your Constitution has risen from 12 to 13

    But the rewards didn¡¯t quench his panic. Heart thudding, he looked around the room. There was no sign of that violent nightmare. The floor gleamed, the furniture was neatly arranged, the white gauzy curtains tied back.

    He examined his hands. They were clean but for dark crescents under his nails. Harald¡¯s eyes widened.

    That wasn¡¯t dirt.

    Stomach clenching, he scrambled out of the bed and hurried to the basin on the side table, and there took up a hard bristled brush and set to cleaning the dried blood away. Someone had clearly made a go of it, but they hadn¡¯t been sufficiently forceful. Harald scrubbed and washed and scrubbed and washed till the little flecks of dried blood floated in the basin and his fingertips were raw and clean.

    A moment later a new message appeared in his vision, the letters dark and absolute, granting him power, rewarding him for those very nightmare images:

    The abyss approves of your ravenous hunger.

    Your fury has resonated through the depths.

    By the decree of the Fallen Angel, you are granted the next echelon of your destiny:

    Abyssal Initiate 4

    Active Ability Unlocked: Abyssal Grasp

    From the void, tendrils of darkness extend from your hands, reaching for the souls of your enemies. These ethereal shackles immobilize foes from a distance, draining their life force and empowering you for as long as contact is maintained.

    Passive Ability Unlocked: Veil of Shadows

    Shadows cling to you like a second skin. In dim light or darkness, you become harder to detect, your form blending seamlessly with the gloom. This veil muffles your footsteps and obscures your presence from prying eyes.

    Harald mechanically picked up a hand towel and dried his hands as he read the updates.

    A new level.

    Abyssal Grasp. Veil of Shadows.

    From the depths of his mind he heard the hobgoblins screaming, the sound of bones breaking under his fists. He shuddered, pressed the base of his palms into his eyes, then staggered over to sit heavily on the edge of his bed.

    He could almost hear Vorakhar¡¯s laughter.

    For a long, endless moment Harald remained thus, and then he dropped his hands into his lap and sat up straight.

    Ego 23 allowed him to assert control over the roiling oceans of his emotions.

    Begin at the beginning. What had happened?

    Nessa had fallen. He¡¯d felt terrible panic, had leaped down and confronted an pale-skinned hobgoblin¡­Wirmas.

    Then? He¡¯d proposed a mad idea, one driven by desperation, and put on the Helm. There¡¯d been a rush of fury, of bloodlust¡­ and now here he was.

    A Level 4 Abyssal Initiate.

    Harald glanced about and stood once more. Someone¡¯s home. Which meant they¡¯d succeeded? He¡¯d been extracted, cleaned, cared for. But Nessa? Had she survived?

    Panicked all over again, he strode to the door, yanked it open, and emerged into an unfamiliar hallway. Not an inn. The scent in the air was familiar, but he couldn¡¯t place it. ¡°Nessa? Nessa!¡±

    Voices from downstairs.

    He began striding down the hall, forcing himself to not run, commanding himself to stay calm until given reason to panic. Even as he rounded the corner and emerged onto a landing with a grand staircase descending into Sonora Manor¡¯s entrance hall, he saw Sam emerge into view and begin rushing up the stairs. ¡°Harald! You¡¯re awake!¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re alive.¡± Harald¡¯s knees went weak as they clasped hands. ¡°Nessa?¡±

    ¡°Alive. You saved her.¡±

    This time his knees did give way, and he sat bonelessly on the uppermost step. ¡°Oh. Oh thank the heavens.¡±

    Sam sat beside him. ¡°How are you? How¡¯s your head?¡±

    ¡°My head?¡± He touched his temple. ¡°Fine? Why?¡±

    Sam hesitated.

    ¡°What is it? How long have I been asleep?¡±

    ¡°Five days.¡±

    ¡°Five¡­ five days!?¡± Harald felt a fresh flare-up of panic and horror. ¡°Five days I¡¯ve just lain there?¡±

    ¡°You were almost dead.¡± Tears brimmed abruptly in Sam¡¯s eyes. ¡°What you did, Harald, the wounds you took¡­ I don¡¯t know how you¡¯re still alive.¡±

    Solid steps sounded and then K¨¢rsek emerged into view below. ¡°You¡¯re awake. Good.¡±

    ¡°K¨¢rsek.¡± Harald turned back to Sam. ¡°But five days?¡±

    K¨¢rsek climbed the steps to stand just below them. ¡°Your mind was sorely wounded, Harald. Perhaps even more than your body, hard as that is to believe.¡±

    ¡°Tell me,¡± said Harald. ¡°What happened?¡±

    Sam hesitated again and exchanged a glance with the dwarf, who shrugged and answered for her. ¡°You killed all the hobgoblins. Some forty or so, along with a troll and an orc behemoth, or so Lady Nessa called it. In doing so you took several arrows to the shoulder and back, and more gashes than a cutting board. Your cursed Helm granted you the Strength and Constitution to keep going, and then Sam¡¯s own powers helped you hold on long enough for some healing. It was a close thing.¡±

    Harald nodded slowly. ¡°Good. So we won. That¡¯s¡­ that¡¯s good.¡±

    ¡°Your mind, Harald.¡± Sam¡¯s tone was soft. ¡°You hurt your sense of self. Countess Sonora insisted on a healer after the first day, and that¡¯s what he diagnosed. That what you did caused spiritual wounds. You took five days to heal back from that alone though your body was already healed.¡±

    ¡°But¡­ that was a price worth paying, right?¡± Harald glanced from one to the next. ¡°Nessa¡¯s alive?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± said K¨¢rsek firmly. ¡°Your actions saved her.¡±

    ¡°Even if it was my insistence that forced her into danger.¡±

    ¡°Nessa¡¯s a grown woman,¡± said Sam, frowning. ¡°And our Delve Captain. She can take responsibility for her choices. But¡­ well. I¡¯ve had a lot of time to think while you were asleep. We all have. As a crew, we¡¯ve decided to ask¡ªto insist¡ªthat you finally meet with that priest that Nessa and Vic know to discuss your¡­ condition.¡±

    ¡°My condition?¡± Harald sat up straighter. ¡°My condition¡¯s what allowed me to save Nessa.¡±

    ¡°Yes and no,¡± said K¨¢rsek, his tone forthright. ¡°Your condition pushed us into deeper danger than Nessa might otherwise have agreed to, and then saved her from that danger. I think it wise to learn more about your connection to this gathul, this demon. If a priest can grant us information, then we should seek it.¡±

    ¡°Or he¡¯ll hand me over to the Inquisitors,¡± laughed Harald. ¡°That¡¯s a real risk.¡±A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    ¡°Not with this priest,¡± said Sam. ¡°He¡¯s¡­ well. He¡¯s not really part of the Seraphic Church any longer.¡±

    ¡°Oh, wait,¡± said Harald. ¡°This that priest¡­ what was his name? The one Vic said is staying at the Kitty Kat Club?¡±

    ¡°The very same,¡± agreed K¨¢rsek. ¡°Both Masters Vic and Nessa speak highly of his learning, though it seems his moral character leaves something to be desired.¡±

    Harald laughed weakly again. ¡°You don¡¯t say.¡± But neither the dwarf nor Sam were smiling. ¡°You¡¯re serious. All right.¡± He rubbed at his face. ¡°If you want me to speak with a priest, I¡¯ll speak with a priest. But I thought he wasn¡¯t willing to talk to us?¡±

    ¡°Not willing to talk to Vic,¡± corrected Sam. ¡°Nessa introduced me to him, and I managed to convince him to talk to you.¡±

    ¡°You did? All right.¡± Harald¡¯s stomach grumbled audibly, then began to cramp. ¡°Is the countess home? Where are Vic and Nessa?¡±

    ¡°Nessa¡¯s been staying at Vic¡¯s place, and he¡¯s been keeping a close eye on her.¡± Sam¡¯s expression grew troubled. ¡°What happened really knocked her off balance. Vic¡¯s been at her side since, though he asked we send word once you awoke. The countess comes and goes according to her own business, but she¡¯s currently out.¡±

    ¡°She has sat by your bedside numerous times,¡± said K¨¢rsek. ¡°She is clearly concerned about your condition.¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± said Harald, feeling guilty and pleased and conflicted all at once. ¡°I¡¯m sorry to have troubled her.¡±

    ¡°You are her sole knight,¡± said K¨¢rsek, tone matter of fact. ¡°She is invested in your health.¡±

    ¡°Of course.¡± Harald¡¯s stomach grumbled loudly. ¡°Oof. I don¡¯t suppose we could talk over food?¡±

    K¨¢rsek extended his callused hand. ¡°Lunch was chicken stew. I shall ask Rivik to ask the kitchen staff to serve you several portions in the dining room.¡±

    They descended and Harald ate some five bowls of hearty stew. Rivik welcomed Harald back to the land of the living with a mixture of relief and sarcasm, but kept the stew coming for as long as Harald ate. The food was exquisite, and Harald felt bottomless. He sopped down the sauce with chunks of bread and washed it all down with cold well water.

    Sam and K¨¢rsek just watched, amused.

    ¡°So,¡± said Harald as he pushed the last bowl away. ¡°I lost five days. Which means I¡¯m¡­ what? Becoming pretty overdue on contacting Thracos?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d assume so,¡± agreed Sam. ¡°I thought to send word to House Thornvale, but couldn¡¯t decide if that was the right move. Plus I kept expecting you to wake up at any moment.¡±

    ¡°Right. So I should reach out before they accuse me of reneging on the duel. When do we see the priest?¡±

    ¡°First we send word to Countess Sonora that you¡¯re awake,¡± said Sam. ¡°She¡¯s left a standing command that a message be delivered the moment you wake up, even while she¡¯s at court.¡±

    ¡°I will confirm with Rivik that this has already been taken care of,¡± said K¨¢rsek. ¡°Though he is a conscientious and willing servant. I am sure it has been.¡±

    ¡°What did you tell the countess?¡± asked Harald, trying not to wince. ¡°About what happened to us?¡±

    ¡°We didn¡¯t represent what happened as accurately as we may have,¡± said K¨¢rsek. ¡°We decided to leave the amount of detail to be shared up to yourself.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡± Harald felt the bottom of his stomach drop out, and another memory came to him, of his being trapped under a huge body, legs all around him, of tearing a knife away from a boot then stabbing into the top of the closest foot -

    ¡°You all right?¡± asked Sam, putting a hand on his shoulder.

    ¡°Yeah.¡± He wasn¡¯t sure if he was. He felt queasy and clammy all of a sudden, but he forced a smile. ¡°Yeah. Let¡¯s go see this priest.¡±

    ¡°Pastoric.¡± Sam squeezed his shoulder before letting go. ¡°He¡¯s¡­ an interesting person.¡±

    K¨¢rsek grunted. ¡°A human of many contradictions.¡±

    ¡°Such as his ending up at the Kitty Kat Club,¡± said Harald, resisting the urge to clear away the dishes. ¡°And he¡¯s our resident demon expert?¡±

    ¡°Apparently he was deep into the theological research while at the Tertiary Angelus Cathedral,¡± said Sam. ¡°But he discovered some disconcerting truths about some of the major Houses, and was ordered by his superiors to recant his accusations.¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± said Harald, pausing to stare at her. ¡°Really? The elder Seraphites didn¡¯t want to hear it?¡±

    ¡°Or were in league with said corrupted Houses,¡± said Sam. ¡°Either way, he refused, they threatened him, he called their bluff only to realize they weren¡¯t bluffing, and fled the cathedral.¡±

    ¡°He is a very learned man,¡± said K¨¢rsek. ¡°But not very wise when it comes to the streets. He thought it a good idea to hide in the worst part of the Shambles.¡±

    Harald winced. ¡°How did that work out for him?¡±

    Sam grinned. ¡°As you¡¯d expect. Nessa found him knocked out in a side street off Dark Alley, and brought him to the Kitty Kat Club.¡±

    Harald blinked. ¡°She did?¡±

    ¡°She did,¡± agreed Sam. ¡°Where he¡¯s stayed ever since as their resident Seraphite, absolving them nightly of their sins.¡±

    ¡°And how did he run afoul of Vic?¡±

    ¡°Vic¡­¡± Sam sought the right words. ¡°Vic convinced Pastoric to put the last of his funds into a get-rich scheme that didn¡¯t pan out. At least, not for Pastoric. Turns out Vic did make a profit, which Pastroric found out about from Vic¡¯s favorite girl at the Club, and, well.¡±

    ¡°Oh, Vic,¡± sighed Harald.

    ¡°Exactly. Shall we?¡±

    The trio left Sonora manor and caught a two-wheeled cab into the Shambles, following an old and familiar route that Harald had memorized over the last couple of years. It was odd to drive it since he¡¯d changed, and to do it by day. Sunlight was never kind to the Shambles, which was a mess of overbuilt and decaying tenement buildings that clustered over each lane and alley, their second or third stories almost meeting overhead. The occasional small plaza was a mess of impromptu stalls, piles of refuse, and crowds gathered to draw water from wells or conduct the kind of business that Vic excelled in.

    The Kitty Kat was a grand establishment, a four-story inn of ancient provenance that had changed hands countless times over the centuries till falling into the ownership of the enterprising Katherine Mavelle, who¡¯d married and buried the previous owner and then changed it from being a gambling den to a place of illicit wonders and delight. For the past thirty years she¡¯d overseen the Kitty Kat¡¯s growth into the establishment it was today, and with over forty men and women employed to entertain guests at all hours of the night, it was a vital center to the Shambles, drawing people from all of Flutic into the poor quarter¡¯s twisted heart.

    By day, however, the grand old building looked wan and tired, the closed shutters peeling paint, the pavement outside sporting passed out drunks, and smoke puffing fitfully from its countless chimneys.

    Harald and his friends jumped down from the hansom cab, and Harald couldn¡¯t help but smile as he gazed up at the large sign of a self-satisfied black cat hanging above the main door, its mirrored eyes flashing in the morning light. How many times had he and Vic and the others passed through that very door, drunk and high on yearn smoke, shouting and ready to spend countless Copper Crescents and Silvers Starbursts on more drink, more smoke, and on the smiling men and women of the night?

    ¡°A lot of memories here,¡± he said as way of explanation to K¨¢rsek and Sam, who were watching him.

    ¡°Good ones?¡± asked Sam.

    ¡°Well.¡± He considered. ¡°Half-and-half, shall we say.¡± Nostalgia gave way to melancholy fondness, and he led the way inside.

    By night the vestibule just beyond the door was a hive of activity; Megan or Rory would be behind the check-in counter, taking coats and scarves and weapons, while a half-dozen others would stand about, laughing and scheming as to where to go next. But the counter was closed, the lockers and hooks behind it bare, and they passed into the main room beyond.

    Which had once been an inn common room, but since converted by the enterprising Madam Mavelle into a sumptuous if gaudy landscape of red velvet setees, potted ferns, artfully placed canvas partitions, low coffee tables, and all of it centered around a raised octagonal platform on which various entertainments were played at night, from dancers to musicians to, for closed events, live couplings between all manner of people.

    Everywhere the ghosts of memories waited to be evoked. That was the booth in which Harald had lost his composure and vomited over Smiling Jen when she¡¯d dared him to best her at a drinking game. Over there the space where he and Vic and wrestled with another pair before the bar, Vic seated athwart Harald¡¯s shoulders as they¡¯d tried to tip their opponents over. Over there -

    Harald brought his mind to the present, banishing the ghosts. The place smelled of perfume and sweat, alcohol and sawdust, and behind the grand bar Kat Mavelle herself was working at her ledger. Two bartenders were taking inventory of bottles, while three young men were busy mopping the floors and carrying out the rugs that had been soiled over the course of the previous night.

    ¡°Hello, Harry,¡± called Kat, her voice arch, her seemingly casual glance taking in for more than one expected. He¡¯d never met someone so adept at reading people as Kat Mavelle, and he wondered what she saw now in him. ¡°You¡¯re a good eight hours too late, I¡¯m afraid. You should have seen the show Nell put on with her new white python.¡±

    ¡°Hello Kat.¡± Harald walked up to the bar. The Madam was a formidable woman, now easily into her 50¡¯s but still an arresting figure; she¡¯d dispensed with her evening costume for business-like clothing, washed her face of its customary make-up, and in the late morning light the crow¡¯s feet at the corner of her eyes and sagging chin were in evidence. But still Harald felt the same deference and awe that he always felt in her presence; there were just too many stories of Kat¡¯s accomplishments over the decades, her victories over the many powers in the Shambles that had tried to strong-arm the Kitty Kat Club out from under her control, to ever feel anything less. ¡°I¡¯m sure it broke Nell¡¯s heart to not see me in the crowd.¡±

    ¡°Unlikely.¡± Kat turned the page, checked a figure, then turned back. ¡°You¡¯ll be here about the priest.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± said Sam. ¡°Pastoric is expecting us. Or should be.¡±

    ¡°Well, last I heard he was in Onella¡¯s chamber, second floor, third on the left, but that doesn¡¯t mean much.¡± Kat flashed an exasperated smile. ¡°You¡¯ll have to go door to door, but he¡¯s up there, somewhere.¡±

    ¡°Thanks,¡± smiled Harald, and set a Silver Starburst on the bar before heading toward the grand staircase in the back.

    They ascended to the first floor and stopped before the right door. Harald rapped with his knuckle, heard nothing, and rapped louder. Still nothing.

    It took them a good five minutes to track Pastoric down; finally a helpful chambermaid took them to the third floor and to one of the master suites, where he¡¯d apparently fallen asleep with Nell and Patricia. He called through the door that he¡¯d meet them in one of the private parlors in a moment, and the trio retreated downstairs.

    ¡°I don¡¯t understand it,¡± said K¨¢rsek, tugging on his beard. ¡°He is a Seraphic priest, but he has lived here for several years?¡±

    ¡°I think they won¡¯t let him go,¡± said Sam, flushing slightly. ¡°They take immense comfort from his, ah, spiritual care.¡±

    Harald snorted as he closed the door behind them. ¡°Is that what they¡¯re calling it these days?¡±

    ¡°Nessa said his being here has done wonders for the employees. Staff turnover has dropped, morale is up, and everybody dotes on him.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve never understood it, but they¡¯re mad about him,¡± said Harald flatly. ¡°Made me seriously consider becoming a priest myself, but even then I realized there was more going on than just memorizing a few sermons.¡±

    ¡°Hmm.¡± K¨¢rsek linked his hands behind his back and frowned. ¡°Most strange.¡±

    There was a knock at the door, and then Pastoric entered, freshly bathed and wearing plain robes of light gray cinched at the waist with a belt.

    Harald stood. He¡¯d been endlessly curious about this enigmatic figure since first learning about him, but never had the chance to meet; Pastoric never descended to the floor during evenings and nights, and was incredibly reclusive at other times. In Harald¡¯s mind he¡¯d almost taken on a mythical status, a ghost who haunted the upper floors and whose name could cause even the most hardened of the Kitty Kat¡¯s employees to sigh and smile.

    ¡°Good morning,¡± said Pastoric, voice soft, almost hesitant. ¡°Sir Harald Darrowdelve? Your friends have been most insistent that we speak.¡±

    The priest was tall but slender, his sandy brown hair roughly cut but catching the light with a healthy sheen, and his features were sensitive. Golden stubble glinted on his jaw, and his eyes were rich with emotion, an earnest sincerity that was undercut by some manner of troubled pain.

    ¡°Yes, thank you. Um.¡±

    Pastoric inclined his head to K¨¢rsek. ¡°Master dwarf.¡± But when he smiled at Sam, it was as if the sun had broken through dreary cloud cover; a simple joy showed itself, as if he couldn¡¯t help but be happy at greeting her despite himself. ¡°Miss Tuppins.¡±

    Sam actually flushed as she nodded back. ¡°Pastoric. It¡¯s good to see you again.¡±

    Harald stared at Sam, amused and amazed both. She glanced at him, scowled, and then adopted a neutral expression as they all sat down.

    ¡°Miss Tuppins has told me enough to be concerned,¡± said Pastoric. ¡°But I¡¯ve sworn to keep this matter confidential in the manner of a confession. What¡¯s going on?¡±

    ¡°Where to begin?¡± Now that the moment was here, Harald felt extreme reluctance to dive into his problems. But Pastoric¡¯s gaze was earnest, concerned, and nonjudgemental; Harald felt himself drawn into the man¡¯s deep blue gaze and took a breath. ¡°This is protected by the Rite of Confession?¡±

    Pastoric nodded. ¡°It is. I¡¯ve long since squared my qualms with performing it outside a Seraphic church. Other Seraphites may scorn my performing the rite here, but I¡¯ve since performed it hundreds of times for many people. I¡¯ve¡­ I¡¯ve come to believe that just as the Fallen Angel exists outside of the physical buildings of the church, so may her blessings and forgiveness be found outside the confession booths. That¡¯s my belief, and I will hold to the sacredness of the rite no matter what my former brothers and sisters may think.¡±

    Harald nodded and realized he was temporizing. There was nothing for it. He needed answers. He needed this priest¡¯s wisdom.

    ¡°My father accepted the patronage of a major demon by the name of Vorakhar, who cursed him with a Demon Seed. A couple of months ago I ventured into the dungeon and met the same demon. He offered to save my life, and I accepted. In doing so, he implanted the same  Demon Seed within me, and since then everything has changed.¡±

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